


The Case of Cellist in 221C

by whispersofafangirl



Series: Sherlock and Abby [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Murder, Mystery, Oral Sex, Romance, Serial Killers, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispersofafangirl/pseuds/whispersofafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlock/OFC AU story (after Reichenbach)</p><p>Mrs. Hudson's niece, Abigail Hudson, agrees to come watch over 221 Baker Street over the summer. No one is aware that Abigail and Sherlock share a past and now they must face it before everything crumbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her arrival to 221C Baker Street was anticipated but still a surprise. Sherlock thought the basement apartment would forever remain empty, which was good for him because it meant he could do as he pleased at whatever time of day suited him. But the day that Abigail Martha Hudson arrived would forever be burned into his head. 

Abigail was the niece of Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson’s brother-in-law Thomas, who had relocated to Florida decades ago, was Abigail’s father. Abigail and Mrs. Hudson wrote to each other often and remained close even after Mr. Hudson was charged with murder. 

Abigail was an accomplished cellist and often took short gigs playing with theater orchestras. So when she received the call to go to London and audition for a theatre orchestra, she jumped at the opportunity. The rehearsals would start in early June which coincided nicely with the fact Mrs. Hudson would be going on holiday with her sisters so Abigail could keep an eye on Baker Street and the infamous Sherlock Holmes. 

221C was cleaned up but far from as lovely as Mrs. Hudson had told her. It was dark and damp. As the two women stood in the basement flat, Abigail sighed. “It has potential, Auntie,” she said, trying to seem positive. 

“I know dear, it does and if anyone could make it lovely, you could,” Mrs. Hudson said as she put her arm around her beloved niece. “You do whatever you like to it. Paint… wallpaper. I’ve left you a few names of handymen that could do it cheaply.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said, her big brown eyes shining with hope. “And don’t worry, I will keep a good eye on the place while you are off with your sisters having fun. And thank you for getting some furniture in here. I appreciate the help.”

“Well, it’s not very much but it will help get you started,” Mrs. Hudson said as she looked around the mostly bare apartment. “Now, here are the instructions,” she said as she handed Abigail an envelope. “I know you and Sherlock had met briefly before but try to remember… he’s a good man. Don’t let his way of speaking hurt your feelings.”

“I’m a tough cookie, Auntie,” Abigail said with a wink. “Don’t worry, I will follow the instructions. Now, have fun and give them a kiss for me,” she told her before hugging her tightly. 

After Mrs. Hudson left, Abigail returned to her new flat and walked around. There was a small love seat in the living room, a small table and two chairs in the eat-in kitchen and a bed with a dresser in the bedroom. That was all. The only thing substantial that Abigail had to contribute was her cello and music stand, which sat nicely in a corner. Her clothes were quickly unpacked and new sheets were put on the bed. 

“You do realize that I tend to make noise in the middle of the night,” a deep voice said from the doorway. “And while, I will try to be considerate, I expect the same in return.” Sherlock walked in but Abigail didn’t look up. She wasn’t quite ready to deal with him. He looked around the room and only noticed her things so he could figure out just how to feel about this new neighbor. 

“Don’t worry, Auntie left some ear plugs,” Abigail responded, still sitting at the small table in the kitchen, stirring some sugar into her tea. “There is tea, if you would care to join me.”

Sherlock reached the kitchen and sat down across from her and immediately noticed the differences from the last time he had seen her. There were a few grey hairs sprinkled through her long, mousy brown hair. Her complexion was better, less spotty and her eyes clear and bright. Time had been good to her and it was partially due to the fact she wasn’t drinking anymore. He said nothing though. 

Finally Abigail looked up and at Sherlock, waiting for the criticism to come. She was bracing her for some awful observation about her weight or the emergence of crow’s feet around her eyes. There was silence instead. 

“What? No observation that I weigh more or I look older than my age?” she said, surprising herself by how guarded she sounded. 

“Well, I think you are already aware of your weight gain and the wrinkles. No?” he replied, a small smile of victory on his face. “It is good to see that you are sober now. For some time, yes? A year or two?”

Abigail grumbled and returned her stare to her tea cup. “16 months,” she said, setting him straight.

“As a precaution, your aunt got rid of all of the brandy and aperitifs in her flat,” Sherlock informed her. “Although, I believe that it wasn’t necessary.”

“People always think the worst,” Abigail stated. “She did it out of kindness and perhaps a worry that I would fall into old habits because I’m here alone.” She sipped her tea slowly and placed it back down on the saucer. 

Sherlock nodded, “Well, I suppose she does care. Even loves you.” The way it came out of his mouth made Abigail glance up at him, it sounded like he couldn’t believe someone would feel that way about her. “Oh don’t look at me like that, Abby,” he said, turning away in a rare moment of embarrassment. He didn’t mean to sound that way. She always flustered him and it was a great annoyance when she did. “Did you bother reading the instructions?” he said, motioning to the unopened envelope on the table. “Or are you going to just wing it?”

Abigail shook her head, “I’m assuming it’s four pages of how not to piss you off,” she said calmly. “And how to make sure you survive two months without your nanny.”

“Yes, probably,” Sherlock said, ignoring the dig about Mrs. Hudson. “She still expects you to read it.”

“I will after I get some sleep. Jet lag has me exhausted,” Abigail said. “Can you manage on your own for supper tonight? I will get to the store in the morning.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “I will manage. Here is a list,” he said as he stood up and placed a shopping list on the table and some cash with it. “You probably haven’t exchanged money yet so I figured I would help.”

Abigail looked up at him, surprised at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. 

Sherlock walked out of the flat and said a simple, “Goodnight” as he shut the door. Abigail cleaned up and walked up to her cello, sitting in the corner. It was her one friend in the world. 

“Welcome home,” she whispered as she pulled a chair over and sat down, nestling the instrument between her legs and began to tune it carefully. The bow glided over the strings and the deep, rich sound bellowed out. 

And it was then that she began to play her favorite concerto by Bach- Suite No.1 in G Major. The concerto that reminded her of her single greatest accomplishment in life- a solo performance in her college orchestra. The one that made her mother cry with happiness and the audience stand in appreciation. The one time in her life that she had actually felt like someone special. A tear rolled down her cheek as she reached the second movement. The comfort of playing would help her sleep that night in the strange bed. 

Sherlock stood in the stairwell, listening to Abigail play and leaned against the wall with his eyes shut. He could hear the pain come out with every stroke of the bow and he continued to stand there the entire time as she finished the three movements. And when she was done and he knew she was in bed, he finally went up to 221B and to bed. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was almost lunchtime when Abigail woke up the next day. She rushed through getting dressed, opting for a light purple sundress and throwing her hair into a messy ponytail. It felt overwhelming just how much she had to do and on top of it, she needed to shop for Sherlock. Her lips pursed as soon as she thought about him. She looked at the envelope still sitting on the table in the kitchen and walked over to it. There were three pages of how to deal with him and making sure he had the things he needed. “Jesus,” she grumbled under her breath. Before she read the whole thing, she dropped it into her purse and headed out.   
She picked up several things from the store and started to walk home with her hands full of parcels. Not only did she have a bag for Sherlock but she bought several things for herself so there would be some food in the house. As she walked up to her door, she noticed a couple police cars out front. It was a good thing that her aunt had warned her about the constant presence of the police force due to Sherlock’s work with them or she might have worried. 

After she put her own groceries away, she headed upstairs to Sherlock’s flat. The door was wide open and she peeked inside. “Sherlock?” she called out and four people turned around to look at her. 

“Abigail, this is not a good time,” Sherlock said with his usual annoyance and waved her off.

“Fine, if you do not want me to bring your shopping in, I won’t.” She bent over to leave the bag by the door but before she could, he stopped her. 

“Alright, bring it in but be quick,” he said as he paced away from his audience and looked out the window. 

Detective Inspector Lestrade gave her a warm smile, “I hear Mrs. Hudson is your aunt,” he said before introducing himself. 

“Yes, she is,” Abigail said as she shook his hand. “Abigail Hudson. A pleasure to meet you.” 

“Enough with the introductions and hellos,” Sherlock interrupted, glaring at Lestrade who was still smiling big at Abigail. “Lestrade, go to the cousin’s house and search for a shovel. I think you’ll find what you need there.”

“Thank you,” Lestrade said and quickly left with the other officers. 

Abigail finished putting the groceries away and cleaned a couple of dishes in the sink before turning to leave. Sherlock watched her from across the room and whenever she looked over at him, he turned away. 

“Abigail? Did you read the instructions?” Sherlock said without turning to look at her. His eyes remained fixed on the wall in front of him. 

“I skimmed two pages but stopped,” she replied bluntly. “I will try to read the rest later.” 

“You obviously did not get to the part on what milk to purchase for me or you would have known that I only drink whole milk,” he stated. “I do not understand why you cannot just read the instructions and follow them. An idiot could do it.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow and glared at him. “Look, I just got here yesterday, your highness. I have important things to do too, you know. It’s 2%, deal with it.”

Sherlock finally turned to face her and assessed her mood. “I suppose I could let it go this one time,” he stated. Their eyes met for just a moment as Abigail tried to escape the argument.

“Well, don’t do me any favors,” she retorted as she headed towards the door but paused. She knew she had to follow the instructions which was why she swallowed her pride and said, “I’ll bring you a plate of supper around six.”

Sherlock’s face didn’t change but he was genuinely surprised. What had made her do that? It was obviously an obligation to her aunt, he decided. “Thank you, Abby.”

The afternoon was spent learning her music for the play. Rehearsals would start next week but she liked to go in very prepared. There would be three plays through September and every 6 weeks, she would need to learn new music. It was a challenging job but she loved every moment of it. 

Abigail struggled with anxiety her entire life. The inability to deal with it had led her down a horrible road that led to alcoholism. After finally getting sober and starting over with her life, she found her replacement for the booze and it had been there the entire time. Music. Her current anxiety of being in a new city and not knowing anyone melted away every time she lifted her bow. Music was her security blanket, her friend and her great love. It was all she had. 

Abigail played through the afternoon while Sherlock sat in his flat looking through several boring cases and listening to Abigail play. She was distracting him and it was annoying. He muttered under his breath and looked at the clock. It was five and he wanted his supper soon. 

He stomped downstairs and turned the handle to her door and opened it slowly. She was turned slightly away from him, across the room. Her eyes were closed as she played a slow, haunting piece that she had memorized so many years ago. Her hair was slowly falling out her ponytail and framing her face. His eyes remained transfixed on her as she played. Until she stopped suddenly and sighed. 

Sherlock blinked and cleared his throat, “Abby? Is supper ready?”

Abigail jumped. “Do you not know how to knock?” she fussed. “No, supper is not ready. It’s not 6 yet, is it?”

Sherlock looked at his watch. “It is 5:30.”

Abigail stood up and put her cello away. “I said 6. Do you not remember? Of course you do,” she said, correcting herself before he could. “Fine.”

“You haven’t changed,” Sherlock said with a smirk as he followed her into the kitchen. “That summer… the one when I met you in Florida,” he began. “10 years ago? Do you remember?”

Abigail stopped and tilted her head down, looking at the floor. Her entire demeanor went from annoyed to a sad frustration. “Hmmm, do I remember when my entire family was falling apart? When my uncle was put on death row and my father sentenced to life in prison? The year my mother died? And you came storming over across the pond to make sure my father and uncle would never see the light of day again? Yes, I believe I do remember.” She walked into the kitchen despite the urge to run. Her hands trembled as she put on a pot of water for pasta and she started to take deep breaths to calm herself down.

Sherlock looked away and paced back into the livingroom while Abigail started to pull out the ingredients for dinner. “Would you have preferred a murderer and his accomplice be set free?” Sherlock asked. “Because that is exactly would have happened if I hadn’t intervened.”

“I would have preferred that I had a normal life. I would have preferred to not lose everyone I loved in the matter of 3 months. Maybe you don’t understand that,” she said coldly. “But us mortals, we like people being in our lives. It is actually pleasant to have someone love and care for you.”

Sherlock glanced towards the kitchen, “When that someone who you love does something so heinous, you still want them in your life? You grew up with him. He was awful to you yet you stand there pining over him. I will never understand you.”

“I don’t need you to understand me. I don’t care if you do. I was only 21. I just wanted her to see me succeed,” she said, betraying her own words by explaining. Her voice got shaky as she said, “I didn’t want to lose her. She was all I had.” She would soon be crying if he kept up this conversation and they both knew it. Abigail pulled out a knife and started to chop up some vegetables as she waited for the water to boil for the pasta. Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table and watched her work quickly. 

“I won’t bring it up again, Abby,” he finally said, breaking a long silence. “I just look at you and see the same girl I met 10 years ago, that is all I meant.” He frowned when he realized he was explaining himself again to her. Why was he doing that?

Abigail was now ignoring him and threw some pasta into the boiling water. She didn’t want to talk to him anymore. He represented so much of her past pain that just looking at him made her want to call her sponsor. The sooner he had dinner, the better. 

Sherlock was silent the entire time while she made dinner. She made a lovely pasta with a vegetable garlic sauce and gave him a plate, expecting him to take it to his flat to eat. “There,” she said as she handed it to him and fully expected him to leave her flat immediately.

He looked up at her and extended his hand, “Fork, please.” He did not want to leave just yet. 

“Was keeping you company during meals in the instructions?” she asked, searching for a way out of this. 

“I guess you won’t know until you read them. Until then, fork. Please,” he stated and left his hand extended. He knew the instructions didn’t mention it at all. In fact, Mrs. Hudson had specifically wrote “let him eat alone because he likes it that way.”

She inhaled sharply and got a fork and napkin for him. She sat down with her own plate and began to eat quietly. Abigail did not want anymore conversation. 

Dinner was eaten in complete silence. Neither one of them would say a word first- even when Sherlock needed a drink and decided to pour them both a glass of water. And especially not when dinner was over and she started to wash the dishes and he remained sitting in the chair, watching her. 

When the kitchen was clean, Abigail finally turned and faced him, “Well. I don’t have pudding for you so you’re out of luck. So I guess this is goodnight.”

Sherlock finally stood up and walked towards the door. “Goodnight, Abigail,” he said coldly before heading up to his flat. Abigail walked over and locked the door before she decided to go lay down and try calm her nerves down. 

Despite it being only 7 pm, Abigail got undressed and laid in her bed. Soon the tears came and she was sobbing into her pillow. The reminders of her mother and father were too much to bear. 

Upstairs, an antsy Sherlock paced and waited to hear her play. But the music never came. He resorted to putting his ear to the floor when he could faintly hear her crying. He shut his eyes as he heard her pain and then walked over to his violin and started to play a melody that he composed ten years ago. It was a gentle, soft song that carried throughout Baker Street. 

Abigail forced herself to stop crying and listened to him play. She tried to figure out what song it was. It was beautiful but the composer was unrecognizable to her. After wiping away her tears, she laid there listening and calmed down to the point that she began to fall asleep. She didn’t know it had been the song that Sherlock had composed so many years ago after meeting her and witnessing her pain. In his mind, it was Abby’s song. A tribute to someone he had hurt so badly years ago.


	3. Chapter 3

Abigail woke up very early the next morning. She was surprised that she managed to sleep all night, especially with everything that had happened. After lounging quietly on the couch with a cup of coffee, she looked on her cell phone for the nearest AA meeting she could go to. The anxiety was a big signal to her that she needed to get some extra support. After finding a morning meeting at a local church, she got dressed and headed outside to walk to the meeting. 

Sherlock woke up to the sound of her door closing and hurried outside to follow her. He had fallen asleep in his chair while he was listening for her during the night. He felt obligated to make sure she wouldn’t have done anything she might regret. After keeping a safe distance behind her and the realization just where she was headed, he turned around and went back home. 

While Abigail was at the meeting, Sherlock went into her flat. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he felt that he needed to make sure that she was ok. She didn’t have much but he felt the need to go through everything- including each of her dresser drawers. While rummaging through her disorganized panty drawer, he heard John call out to him.  
“I’m in the basement flat!” he called out to John. 

With his hands still in her panty drawer, John walked in and looked at him. “Right. What are you doing?” he asked. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Sherlock asked as he lifted his hand up, not realizing a black lace panty was entangled in his fingers. He quickly removed it and put it back in the drawer.

“Rifling through a woman’s panty drawer,” John stated and sat on the edge of the bed. “Wait. Isn’t Mrs. Hudson’s niece staying down here? Why are you looking through her things?”

“I’m checking on her,” Sherlock said as he opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small bottle of lotion. As he sniffed it, John shook his head. 

“You’re being intrusive and I’m relatively sure there is not one solid reason why you are doing this,” John said. “If she catches you down here, she will be very angry.”

“Abigail would be furious, yes…. but I am just making sure she didn’t go out and do something stupid last night. I fell asleep and I thought I heard her go out this morning and return. I could be wrong,” Sherlock mumbled. 

“Abigail?” John said. “Ok, that’s enough. Let’s go upstairs. I want to see the case you are working on.”

Sherlock quickly looked around the room to make sure he had put everything back into it’s place before going upstairs with John who was now rushing to get out of the flat. Sherlock paced through the flat and John just watched for a bit before sitting down in his chair. 

“You’re acting weird, Sherlock,” John commented. 

Sherlock turned to him and was about to say something but heard the basement’s flat door shut. “She’s home,” he whispered and looked away and concentrated on listening to every noise that came from her flat. 

“So?” John asked. “Is she part of the case?”

“What? No,” Sherlock said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Alright then,” John said. “So what is the case?”

“Shhh, she’s home,” Sherlock announced as he heard the back door open and close.

“So?” John asked and Sherlock waved him off.

The basement flat door slammed and there were loud footsteps up the stairs. Abigail swung the door open and stepped inside. 

“Were you in my flat?” she demanded and stared at Sherlock. “YOU left this on my bed and I know for a fact that it was in my nightstand this morning. Just who do you think you are, invading my privacy like that?” She was holding the bottle of lotion and waving it in the air. It took a lot of effort for her not to throw it at his head.

John stood up and walked over to Abigail to try and calm the situation down. “Abigail?” John said, “I’m John Watson, your aunt has told me so much about you, I feel like I already know you.” He gave her a big smile and all she could manage to do was hold out her hand and shake his. 

“Dr. Watson, it’s very nice to meet you. I could say the same about you,” she said, recalling how many stories her aunt had told her about Sherlock and Dr. Watson and their cases. “I heard you got married. Congratulations,” she said sweetly. 

“Yes, thank you. I’d love for Mary to meet you,” he said. “You should have dinner with us soon. I know it must be difficult being in a new city all by yourself. Perhaps in a few days, that is if you aren’t busy with rehearsals.”

Abigail nodded, “Yes, it has been a little difficult- especially since it seems that I have moved in underneath a stalker,” she said motioning over to Sherlock who was now sulking in his chair. “Actually, dinner sounds lovely. No rehearsals until Monday so I’m free this weekend.”

John smiled and looked very pleased, “Wonderful. I’ll let Mary know. Come over on Saturday, Sherlock can give you the address.”

“I needed something,” Sherlock interrupted suddenly. “I won’t do it again.”

John turned and looked at him, shocked by the explanation and promise. Abigail shrugged, “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You have no concept of personal space. I don’t want you rifling through my things. If you need something, ask.”

“Abby, I won’t do it again,” he said softly, turning to look at her. “I promise.” Their eyes met and there was silence. Sherlock’s expression was so soft- almost adoration. John looked back and forth from both of them, genuinely shocked by everyone in that room.

Abigail sighed and looked away first, the look he was giving her was almost too much to bear. “Ok, dinner will be ready at 6 tonight. It’s takeaway tonight and if you have a problem with that, oh well,” she said. “I should go and start painting. I’m trying to make the flat look a little less like a dungeon,” she laughed as she smiled at John. “I’ll see you on Saturday,” she said.

Sherlock watched as John gave her a little hug. “Just nothing spicy,” he announced quietly as she left. She didn’t hear him as she walked away though.

John looked at Sherlock and shook his head, “I’m so confused right now. Why were you going through her things if she’s not involved in a case? You should really try not to upset her too much. Mrs. Hudson asked us to be nice to her and that she could use some friends.”

“I know all about her situation, John,” Sherlock said abruptly. “The case.. the case Lestrade gave to me was solved earlier.”

“So, no case then?” John asked and began to wonder if that was why Sherlock was so focused on Abigail. 

“No but I’m sure they will come begging for my help on one soon,” Sherlock said, sounding his usual annoyed self. He finally turned and looked at his old friend, “How is married life?”

A big smile came across John’s face. “Well, it’s nice. I worry about you sometimes though,” John admitted. 

Sherlock shook his head, “No, no need to. Everything is -fine-.”

John nodded a little. “I think you are too focused on Abigail right now and need a case. You are not yourself… which is a little unnerving to say the least.”

Sherlock grumbled and got up, “Well, when the police need my help, I’ll be here. Until then, I should focus on some experiments.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” John agreed. “Maybe Molly can get a body for you. Or you can work on your blog.” John looked at his watch and stood up. “I should be off. Mary needs me to pick a few things up from the shop.”

Sherlock looked up at him. “See you on Saturday,” he said with a smirk. 

“Sherlock… promise me you’ll behave,” John said. “Promise.”

“John, there is no reason to worry. Besides, we can share a cab over. I’m sure Mary would love for me to come as well.”

John muttered a little and shook his head, “Yes, well.. just behave for once.”

After leaving Sherlock, John’s phone rang and it was Mycroft. 

“How is my little brother doing?” Mycroft asked without any pleasantries. 

“He seems…. a little obsessed,” John replied as he got into a taxi. “He’s going to need a case soon, I think or he’s going to drive Mrs. Hudson’s niece to the looney bin.”

“Abigail Hudson and Sherlock Holmes reunited. Interesting,” Mycroft said.

“Yes… is there some sort of history between them?” John asked. 

“Yes, well… no… I mean have you ever known him to have a history with a female?” Mycroft asked. 

“Irene Adler?” John pointed out. 

“No,” Mycroft stated. “Not like that. I mean a history…of a romantic sorts. When Sherlock came back from Florida, that was when all that business of drugs started. Do you think it is a coincidence? John, we must be careful.”

“Ok, well they are coming to dinner at my house and I’ll see about checking in more often,” he offered. “Something was certainly going on but I don’t know what. I don’t think he’s using though.”

Mycroft hung up and John put his phone away. He started to think about how Sherlock was acting and the only logical conclusion that John could come to was Sherlock needed a new case. 

Abigail stood in her bedroom, painting it a soft, comforting blue. She had changed into a little pair of cutoffs and a tank top so she wouldn’t ruin any of her nicer clothes. Her hair was piled on the top of her head in a messy bun. It was getting hot in the room and with the physical work of painting, she was a sweaty mess. 

Thankfully, she thought, her bedroom was small. The soft blue color made it more feminine and much better than the beige it had been. She cleaned up the painting supplies and washed her hands in the kitchen, looking out towards the back garden. It was getting late and she would have to order dinner soon. “Sherlock,” she muttered under her breath before she went back into her bedroom and made her bed with the new white comforter she bought. It looked pretty which made her smile and happy for the first time all day. 

“It looks nice,” Sherlock’s deep voice said behind her. He startled her and she turned around, her heart still racing. 

“Please don’t do that,” she said, her brown eyes still wide with fear. “My nerves can’t take it. Besides, what did I tell you about knocking?”

“I forgot,” he stated. “Blue is a good color for you. It supposedly brings calmness and serenity to your mind. It can lower your heart rate.”

Abigail shook her head, “Well, I just like it.” She walked past him and he turned to watch her walk into the kitchen. “I’ll order dinner since you seem anxious to eat again. You’re following me around like a puppy dog,” she complained. 

“Can I make a suggestion?” he asked. “Why don’t we go out?”

Confusion crossed her face and she tried to figure out what he meant. “You mean to dinner?”

“What else would I have meant?” he said, sounding annoyed. “Out to dinner.”

“Sherlock, I’m not exactly dressed to go anywhere in case you haven’t noticed,” she said. “It would be easier if I could just eat here at home.”

“Very well,” he relented and pulled out his mobile phone and called up his favorite place and ordered dinner for both of them. “Done. Should be here in 15 minutes. 20 if he’s too busy flirting with that idiotic waitress he hired.”

“I’m not even going to make you explain,” Abigail said as she pulled a water out of the refrigerator and offered one to Sherlock. She flopped down on the other chair and sighed loudly. 

Sherlock glanced over at her and examined her messy hair and sweaty face that was still a little red from the work. Abigail could feel him looking at her but chose to ignore it because she really didn’t want him deducing her anymore. 

“Why didn’t you hire someone to paint for you?” he finally asked. “It couldn’t have cost that much.”

“It’s not in the budget,” she stated. “I could only afford the paint and supplies but not the painter. I don’t mind. It’s not a bad thing. Helped get some of my frustration out.”

“You’re frustrated?” he asked. 

“Why do you bother asking me that? Can’t you tell? I mean.. you can look at people and figure out their life story without talking to them. So why are you asking me?”

“Because I wanted to,” he replied, confused by his own answer.

“Oh,” Abigail said before taking a long drink of water. 

Dinner came and the two of them ate in silence again. Abigail was starving and enjoyed the Chinese dishes Sherlock had ordered. “My favorite,” she said, motioning to the moo shu pork. 

“I remember,” Sherlock said. 

If it had been any other man that had remembered that, Abigail would have smiled and blushed a little. All she could do with Sherlock was nod. “I guess you do.”

“You know… “ he started to say but stopped. “I… just want to say. I never meant to hurt your feelings, Abby.”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she looked up. 

“I mean… I know I deceived you in Florida.I tricked you,” Sherlock sputtered out.

“Oh, you mean how you didn’t tell me why you were there and pretended to like me?” she said. “Faked being my friend so you could get more information? Used my feelings for you to help you solve a case? I trusted you with everything.” Her words had gotten quieter and the word ‘everything’ lingered in the air between them.

Sherlock cleared his throat. He didn’t fake liking her but he did use her and it was something he had regretted deeply all these years. “No…Abby, I did…and still do… like you,” he whispered.

Abigail looked over at him incredulously. “You think I’m going to fall for it again?”

“I didn’t mean to let things go as far as they did between us, Abby. I know I deceived you and used the information that you shared.. in a way that you didn’t intend to,” he said. 

“I guess that’s one way of looking at,” Abigail said. “It’s all ancient history now. Ten years is a long time and I have certainly learned my lesson, Sherlock,” she stated coldly. 

Sherlock looked down at his plate and frowned slightly. He wasn’t one to show his emotions on his face but in that moment, Abigail saw his sadness and knew in her heart, it was genuine. Her brown eyes searched his face for more but he he didn’t look at her until she moved to get up and walked away. They silently did the dishes together and after everything was cleaned up, they stood facing each other. Both of them searched for words but neither one could find any. They were both in pain. 

“Goodnight, Abby,” Sherlock said before heading up to his flat. 

“Goodnight Sherlock,” she whispered as he left.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Sherlock took a case outside of London and left Baker Street and Abigail alone. Abigail got a text that simply said, “On case. Be back Saturday in time for dinner at Dr. Watson’s. SH”. 

She took the opportunity to finish painting her flat and even cleaned his so she wouldn’t have to while he was home. While dusting the bookshelves, she noticed a small conch shell that had been placed next to a pile of books. Abigail’s hands began to tremble as she picked it up and started to remember the day that the conch shell came into Sherlock’s possession. 

“Here have a silly souvenir,” Abby said as they walked along the beach in the Keys. “Something to remember me by before you go back home.” They were one of the few couples on the beach at sunset that night.

She waited for him to hold his hand out and she pulled a conch shell out and put it in his hand. Sherlock looked at it and smiled. “I wish I wasn’t going home,” he said quietly as he inspected the small shell that had been etched with “Key West, Florida” on the side. It was a silly souvenir found at one of the tourist gift shops that dotted the small town. 

“Me too,” Abby whispered as she put her arms around him. Sherlock put his arms around her and they hugged tightly. She sighed contently and nuzzled against him. It would be hard to lose him. 

“Did you know conchs can produce pearls and people in the Victorian times used to collect them?” Sherlock said as he tried to change the painful subject. 

Abby giggled and pulled away, “Yes, they can even produce pink pearls,” she said. Sherlock nodded and then leaned in and kissed her softly. 

Abigail’s eyes filled with tears as she remembered that it was the very next day that he had revealed his true colors and testified at her father’s trial the next day before he left for England. She put the shell down right on the table and gathered the cleaning supplies and walked out. The idea that he kept that shell plagued her for hours. It made no sense. 

Sherlock returned just before it was time to go to John’s for dinner. He heard Abigail playing and headed into his flat to change for dinner. As he walked in, he quickly noticed that she had cleaned the flat. His eyes looked around the room and he saw that only half of the dusting was done. He walked slowly over to the table and picked up the conch shell that was left on the table. “I forgot about you,” he said quietly. 

He chose to ignore it and put it back on the bookshelf. After showering and changing into a pair of black trousers and his favorite purple button-down shirt, Sherlock headed downstairs to collect Abigail so they could share a cab. 

He knocked twice but then just opened the door. She was facing the door this time, no doubt because she didn’t want to be startled again. “I knocked,” he announced and then noticed everything new about the flat. 

 

Cream walls, sheer curtains, new floral armchair and 5 new candles: all 7cm tall and all a turquoise color, unscented  
Got a library card- library books on coffee table- French cookbook, trashy romance novel and an biography of Queen Elizabeth  
Wearing strapless black lace dress, freshly showered and smells like vanilla  
Light makeup, nude lipstick, silver hoop earrings,  
Curled hair, laying nicely on shoulders,   
legs smooth and shiny from lotion, light pink lace panties  
Black strappy sandals, toes painted pink to match fingernails

Conclusion: trying to impress someone but not John… Mary?…. Me???

“Sherlock?” Abigail said. “Yoohoo.”

Sherlock blinked and looked at her face. “Are you ready? The cab is waiting,” he said. 

Abigail nodded. She knew that he had been looking up her dress while she was sitting with the cello between her legs. “Yes,” she said abruptly. She gathered her purse and they headed to John and Mary’s house. 

“The flat looks nice,” Sherlock said, breaking the silence in the cab. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Case solved?”

“Of course,” he replied curtly. 

“Good,” she stated and gave up talking to him for the rest of the way. 

Mary and John were anxiously awaiting their arrival. They lived in a nice townhome just a few miles from Baker Street. Mary, in particular, was happy that she could have a potential new friend. 

The ladies chatted in the kitchen while John and Sherlock sat in the study. “Abigail looks nice tonight,” John said as he looked at his friend. 

Sherlock looked at him and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t notice.”

John tilted his head, “You notice everything.”

“I don’t notice that,” Sherlock replied. “Why are you bringing that up?” his attention was suddenly drawn to John. “Mycroft?”

“Mycroft what?” John asked, trying to avoid any questioning from Sherlock. “Nevermind. Tell me about the case you just worked.”

“Stupid. It took an hour to figure out.”

“Right. Why were you gone for 3 days then?” John asked but was interrupted by Mary calling them in for dinner. 

The four of them sat at the table, each couple facing each other. Mary asked Abigail about the play and if she could get John and her some tickets since they hadn’t had a date night in a long time. 

“Sure, I usually get a few tickets,” Abigail said with a smile. “I know how important date nights are,” she said with a wink. 

Sherlock tried not to look at her very much but when she winked, he couldn’t help but smile just a little bit. John noticed but didn’t say a word. 

“Sherlock, you are very quiet tonight,” Mary commented, making her husband give her a stern look. “I’m just making an observation.”

“You’ve been doing most of the talking,” he stated. “And not about anything of interest.”

Abigail glanced at him and shook her head. The table grew quiet then Mary stood up and started to collect the dishes. John started to help but stopped Abigail from helping. “You guys go ahead in the living room. We’ll have some tea,” he said. 

Abigail sat down in an armchair and watched Sherlock pace a little. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly. 

“Yes. Fine,” he said with little emotion. 

“Ok,” she replied and played with her hands in her lap. 

“You… cleaned my flat while I was gone,” he said, sitting across from her. 

“Yes, it’s part of my obligation to Auntie,” she said, her eyes looking away from him because she did not want to talk about the shell. 

“Did you read the instructions yet?”

“No.”

“Yes, I could tell. Because you moved something and did not put it back in the right place,” he said. She still wasn’t looking at him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling a little. 

“Abby, look at me,” Sherlock said. 

“No.”

“Abby,” he said again, this time more tenderly.

“No.”

John walked in and looked at the both of them. Abigail put on a fake smile and took a teacup from the tray. “Everything alright in here?” John asked, looking at Sherlock. 

“Yes, when Abby is done with her tea, I’m going to call a cab. I need to get some sleep,” he said. 

“You hardly ever sleep,” John commented. 

“Abigail? I didn’t know you went by Abby,” Mary said with smile. “Such a lovely name. So feminine and beautiful unlike plain old ‘Mary’.”

“No, I really don’t go by it,” Abigail said, giving Sherlock a look. “He says it to annoy me. But thank you.”

On the cab ride home, Abigail just looked out the window sadly. She didn’t want to talk to Sherlock again. Too many unresolved feelings. 

When the cab stopped in front of the building, she walked away and didn’t wait for Sherlock to finish paying for the cab. She decided she needed a bath to calm herself down before bed. 

“Abigail?” Sherlock called out to her as she went inside. He walked quickly to her door and knocked. “Abigail?”

“I’m taking a bath. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she called out and started to run the water. 

************************************************************

“Oh go on home without me, girls… I have a sweet one over there, buying me drinks,” Maggie told her group of friends. 

“Oh, he’s a looker. Have fun,” her best friend said and waved goodbye.   
“And has a good job,” Maggie added before returning to the man that had been talking to her most of the night. 

“I’ll walk you home,” the handsome stranger said. “I’ll protect you from all the unsavory characters out there.”

“Of course you will- it’s your job,” Maggie said, flirting wildly with him before downing her entire drink. Her vision soon blurred and she felt his arms pull her close. 

“There, there,” he whispered. “Let’s get you home.”

Several hours later, Lestrade stood over Maggie’s body in the middle of an alleyway and sighed. “Poor girl, looks like she didn’t have a chance.”

Sally nodded, “I’ll be curious to see if this one was drugged too. We’ll see what the post-mortem says.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock stirred in bed, still deep asleep despite it being almost ten in the morning.  
  
 _“Abby,” he whispered as he looked across  the bed. His fingertips ran over her sleeping face, gently tracing along her cheekbone. Abigail’s brown eyes opened up and she smiled as she saw him looking at her. “Good morning,” he whispered._  
  
 _“You just can’t let me sleep,” she replied quietly. It was her turn to touch his cheekbones and then his lips. She moved in and kissed him softly. Her lips then worked their way down, kissing his jaw line and to his neck._  
 _  
Sherlock moaned and pulled her in, the familiar smell of her favorite scent, vanilla filled the air around him. “The scent of vanilla has been proven to arouse men,” he whispered as her lips grazed his Adam’s apple._  
  
 _“Hmmmm,” Abigail moaned. “But did you know that random trivia does the same thing to me?”_  
  
 _It was his turn to kiss her. “I know, that’s why I keep doing it,” he replied, his lips against her ear. He slid his tongue along her earlobe then down to her neck, her body reacting to his touch. His fingers slid down to the back of her thigh. He pulled on her leg, making it hook over his body._  
  
 _Abigail pulled herself on top of him, finally straddling him. Looking down at him, she smiled. He could see so much happiness and love on her face that it caused his heart to skip a beat. She giggled at him and said, “Stop blushing, Mr. Holmes.”_  
  
 _He was ready to take her and she was more than ready for him. They started to move together slowly. He wanted to relish every single moment that he was inside of her. She started to pant and moan loudly. He watched as the signs of orgasm flushed across her face and just as she came, he felt the urge for release as well._    
  
Abigail headed upstairs to Sherlock’s flat so they could talk. She the stress of seeing him  and dealing with so many unresolved feelings were getting more difficult and she knew that if they could just talk, she could get on with her life.   
  
She knocked but there was no answer. “Sherlock?” she called out, thinking he would be in the kitchen. She heard the bed squeak as he turned over and knew he was still in bed. “Sherlock?” she said quietly when she reached his bedroom door that was slightly ajar. Her eyes peeked in and saw he was still sleeping but with a smile on his face.   
  
“Sherlock?” she repeated.  
  
Sherlock moaned and started to talk out loud in his sleep, “Oh Abby… my sweet Abby.” Abigail’s mouth opened when she realized he was dreaming about her. He groaned a little and shifted again in the bed, making her step slowly away from the bedroom and back into the kitchen.   
  
She started the kettle and started to make a little breakfast to try and distract herself from what she had just witnessed. While she rummaged through the kitchen cabinet for a frying pan, Sherlock finally woke up.   
  
He walked out just with the sheet wrapped around him and stood a few feet from her. His erection was made obvious when he pulled the sheet tighter against his body. With his dream fresh on his mind, he looked at Abigail with some lust in his eyes.   
  
 _Jeans, University of Miami t-shirt, bare feet_  
 _Hair in ponytail, no makeup but face is flushed_  
 _smells like vanilla_  
 _making breakfast for both of us_  
 _Conclusion: looks tired and slightly embarrassed_  
  
“Abigail?” he called out to her and she turned to look at him.   
  
Abigail looked over at him and then down at his obvious hard-on. “Sherlock, get dressed or at least put on a dressing gown,” she fussed as she plated up breakfast for them both. “We can talk over breakfast.”  
  
Without a word, he walked back into his room and put on his pajamas and his favorite dressing gown. The table was set by the time he returned and Abigail was sitting and stirring her tea.   
  
“Why did you make breakfast?” Sherlock asked as he sat down. “I don’t usually eat breakfast and this seems a bit unusual.”  
  
Abigail looked at him and shrugged. “I came up to talk and saw you were still sleeping… you were even mumbling in your sleep,” she said. “So, I figured I would make breakfast.”  
  
Sherlock sipped his tea and looked at her. “Mumbling in my sleep?” he said, keeping a very serious look on his face.   
  
“Mhmm,” Abigail replied. “Anyway,” she tried to change the subject because she could feel herself start to blush. “I needed to talk to you about my schedule.”  
  
“You could have left a note,” he replied, noticing she was now avoiding eye contact and came to the conclusion she knew what sort of dream he had.   
  
“I guess I could have,” she said quietly. “I’ll just write it down for you. I’m going to be at rehearsals and soon the show will start which mean I won’t be here to cook you dinner every night. I will try my best though to make sure you have dinners most nights.”  
  
“Fine,” he replied curtly.   
  
Abigail finally looked over at him. “Okay.”  
  
“Abby, everything that happened ten years ago,” Sherlock blurted out. “I did for your Aunt.”  
  
Abigail tilted her head. “Fine,” she said, giving him the same curt reply.   
  
“That’s it then?” he asked, confused now.   
  
“Yes.”  
  
He knew this wasn’t the end and they would go on like this forever. Sherlock stood up and cleared his plate. Abigail stood up and started to walk away. He looked over at her as she started for the door and debated whether to go after her.   
  
“Abigail?” he relenting to the guilt that was plaguing him. “I would like you to forgive me.”  
  
“Maybe some day,” she said as she left him to the dishes and went back to her flat. As she walked back, she heard a plate crash against the floor and then another one. Then what sounded like gunshots. She ran back up and opened the door to find him shooting a wall.   
  
“What are you doing?” she yelled angrily.   
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Well, stop it,” she said, frustrated by his temper tantrums.   
  
“No.” he said and shot the gun again, making her cover her ears.   
  
Abigail spun around and stormed off. She was really doubting how she ever thought she was in love with him. He was being a spoiled child and had no remorse for the games he plays with people.   
  
Sherlock heard her storm off and stopped. He plopped down in his chair and closed his eyes. A vision from the dream haunted him. “I love you, Sherlock,” she had said in the dream and so many years ago. The only woman ever to say it in his entire life. And now, she hated him. He concluded it was beyond the point of forgiveness. She would  never believe him or love him again.  
  
Abigail ran away for the rest of the day. She walked through the neighborhood and had lunch at a small cafe many blocks away.   
  
“Abigail Hudson, I presume?” a voice said as she was eating lunch.   
  
She looked up and nodded at the balding stranger. “Yes? And you are?”  
  
“Mycroft Holmes,” he said as he sat down before she even had a chance to say no. “I am Sherlock’s brother.”  
  
“Yes, I’ve heard of you,” she commented and the two stared at each other.   
  
“You and my brother have quite a history,” he said and thanked the waitress who brought him a cup of tea.   
  
“Had a history,” Abigail corrected him. “What do you want?”  
  
“I worry about him constantly,” Mycroft said. “You aren’t planning on rekindling the romance, are you?  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Abigail said. “He faked being in love with me so he could get information out of me. There was no real romance. There will never be romance.”  
  
Mycroft pondered this for a bit and thought it was satisfactory for her to continue believing this. He had already witnessed his brother’s unusual behavior through his surveillance and knew that his brother was having feelings about the woman in front of him. “I see. I just wanted to see what your intentions were.”  
  
“My intention, Mycroft, is to simply work the summer here in London and leave. I had thought of staying but I know now that it will be impossible to be in the same city as him,” she said. “So, Mr. Holmes, rest assured, Sherlock will be left alone.”   
  
Mycroft stood up. “Thank you,” he said politely. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Hudson.”  
  
Abigail watched the older Holmes brother walk out of the cafe and get into his waiting car. She then realized that she had been followed. They are all insane, she thought to herself as she pulled out her phone and texted Sherlock.   
  
“Tell your brother to never follow me again.”  
  
A few seconds later, her phone vibrated. “Mycroft never listens to me. SH”  
  
Shaking with anger, Abigail paid the bill and headed outside to walk for another hour until she found herself right in front of 221 Baker Street. She looked up at the house and frowned. Why had she done this to herself? Was she hoping that maybe she could have him back? Thoughts raced through her head as she stood there, looking up at his windows. Tears started to stream down her face and she remained motionless, frozen to the sidewalk.   
  
Sherlock was playing violin and pacing around as he played. He reached the window and out of the corner of his eye as he passed by, he saw someone standing out there. He walked back to the window and peeked past the corner and saw it was Abby standing out there, crying in the middle of the street. He frowned and stopped playing, waiting for her to go into her flat but it took her a few minutes to move. It wasn’t until someone accidentally brushed against her as they walked by, that she finally moved.   
  
Once in her flat, Abigail collapsed on the couch. Sherlock was listening for any noise, thinking maybe she was start playing but she never did. He paced and went through all potential scenarios of what he could do.   
  
 _Ignore her crying and pain and never speak to her again, convince Mrs. Hudson to make her leave- probably best for both of us but where would Abigail go? Is it fair to her to do that?_  
  
 _Tell her that the love wasn’t faked and her being here is hard for me too- No. Do not want to deal with the emotions involved._  
  
 _Tell her to stop worrying about cleaning and cooking and take care of myself for the rest of the summer and not talk to each other- Most likely the best option._  
  
And with that, Sherlock decided to tell Abigail that it was best if she focused on herself and work and not worry about taking care of her duties to him.   
  
When she couldn’t cry anymore, Abigail started dinner. Sherlock came down at 6:30 when he could smell that dinner was almost ready. They didn’t even acknowledge each other as he sat down at her little table and waited for dinner.   
  
 _Eyes still red_  
 _Hands trembling just a little_  
 _made a mess on stove as dinner was made_  
 _Conclusion: Appears distraught.  Try to avoid any disagreement._  
  
Abigail put down a bowl of spaghetti and a piece of garlic bread in each of their spots. There was little said while they both ate. He ran through several conversations in his head but he decided none of them would turn out very well.  
  
While she was washing dishes, Sherlock walked over and stood by the drying rack and started to wipe the dishes dry. “Abby?” he said quietly as he was drying the last of the forks.   
  
“Yeah?” she asked, finally facing him.   
  
“What did I say in my sleep this morning?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of her.   
  
“Ummm… I don’t know.. you were mumbling,” she lied. He looked at the way her eyes left his and how she went to turn around and knew she was lying immediately.   
  
“Liar,” he stated and crossed his arms.   
  
“Excuse me?” she turned around.   
  
“You’re lying, Abigail. Tell me what I said,” he demanded.   
  
“God! You are a piece of work!” she yelled. “You know what you said so why are you asking me?”  
  
“I want you to say it! I want you to know that I still dream about you. About us!” he yelled back.  His eyes searched her face.  _Cheeks hot and red, pupils dilated, fidgeting while standing in front of me._    
  
Sherlock reached out and grabbed her arms. She stood there in front of him, inches away. He looked down at her lips and paused. Her eyes grew wide as she realized he was thinking about kissing her.  
  
“Don’t you dare!” she said. “Don’t you dare even think about it.”  
  
“What Abby? What do you think I wanted to do?” he begged. “Tell me.”  
  
“You… you looked at my lips. I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know what that means,” she said.   
  
“What does it mean, Abby?” he taunted. “That I want to kiss you? That I want you accept that I still think about you. That the dream was one I have had over and over again for the past ten years.That I want to take you to my bed right now.”  
  
Abigail then did something she hadn’t done in ten years. She slapped Sherlock Holmes right across the face and it felt good. There was silence and then Abigail made an even bigger mistake.   
  
Her eyes looked into his and then they looked down towards his lips. There was no hiding it. Sherlock’s head immediately tilted down and he kissed her hard. She could only fight it for a split-second until she let go and started to kiss him back.   
  
His hands were suddenly lifting her shirt off, exposing her sheer white bra. “Abby,” he mumbled as his lips worked their way down to her collarbone. She was playing with his hair, pulling his dark curls in between her fingers. Her head leaned back against the wall as he licked through her bra, teasing her nipples. Next came off her jeans then her panties  slid down to the floor.   
  
He reached up in between her legs and felt her dripping. His thumb slid to her spot and began circling it just how she had taught him so many years ago. Abigail closed her eyes and moaned softly. “Sherlock,” she cried as his thumb went faster. He looked up and judged just how close she was to orgasm and then pulled his finger away.   
  
“No,” he said roughly. “I need to be inside you when you come for me.” He unzipped his trousers and pulled them down with his boxers. “We’re going to do this right here,” he growled in her ear as his hands circled around her thighs and he lifted her up, pushing her against the wall.   
  
Abigail grabbed on to him and without any hesitation, he was inside of her. They moaned together as it happened. Roughly, they started fucking against the wall. His face was buried against her shoulder and her fingers were digging into his back.   
  
She came suddenly and cried out, “Sherlock!…. yes!!”  
  
She tightened around him and he couldn’t last any longer. “Abby!” he moaned as he started to fill her with his seed.  
  
He finally let her down slowly and she wobbled a little before resting against the wall again. She was already mad at herself for letting it happen.   
  
Sherlock leaned in and kissed her shoulder, “Abby,” he whispered quietly, feeling so close to her.  
  
She turned her head and leaned down to grab her clothes. Sherlock stood there and watched her put on her panties and t shirt. “I… I shouldn’t have done that..” she mumbled. “That was a mistake,” she forced herself to say, despite how wonderful it had felt to be with him again.   
  
Sherlock pulled up his boxers and trousers again, while he tried to figure what to say or do. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said quietly. Why didn’t she feel better now like he did?  
  
She looked back up at him, “It was for me. I…can’t…. after everything you did, I can’t,” she said. “I need you to leave.”  
  
Hurt and confused, he looked at her one last time before heading back up to his flat.


	6. Chapter 6

Abigail was relieved that it was time to start rehearsals. She was obsessing over every detail from the night in her kitchen. The way he looked, his familiar kisses, and Sherlock’s eyes all haunted her thoughts for the past week.   
  
The daily trip on the tube with the cello to the theater district was almost laughable. Once she arrived at the theater, she felt peaceful. She would always consider other orchestra members kindred spirits and it would be a relief to talk to anyone besides Sherlock.   
  
There were 4 cellists in the orchestra and immediately, she befriended a younger woman named Tina. Tina had just graduated from an university in London and had taken the job  with the theatre until she would head to Boston in the fall for a permanent position at a small orchestra there. Abigail and Tina had lunch together everyday at a cafe near the theatre.   
  
“Are you enjoying London?” Tina asked over lunch.   
  
“I’m still getting used to it. The first week has been rough but with rehearsals starting and meeting new people, like yourself, it has improved,” Abigail said.   
  
Tina smiled. “I know it must be hard but it will get better, I promise. There are lots of fun things to do here and I plan on taking you out. A proper ladies’ night.”  
  
Abigail shifted uncomfortably but smiled. She knew she would have to tell Tina she didn’t drink but decided it wasn’t the right time. “Sounds lovely!”  
  
“Our last free week before the shows… so we’ll make some plans soon, ok?” Tina said.  
  
“Sure!” Abigail agreed.   
  
By the middle of the week, John stopped by Baker Street to check on Sherlock. When John walked into the flat, he could tell right away that Sherlock was in one of his mercurial moods. And the flat was a mess.  
  
“Looking a little… umm… untidy around here,’ John said as he picked up two mugs and some trash. “Everything alright?”  
  
“Fine. Everything is fine,” Sherlock said with annoyance. He was laying on the couch, still in pajamas despite it being the middle of the afternoon.  
  
“Is Abigail not… taking care of things around here? Is she okay?” John asked as he threw out some more random trash and gathered a few dishes.   
  
“She’s at work,” Sherlock responded.   
  
“I see… but… well, I thought she was supposed to do the tidying and cooking,” John commented before giving up on the cleaning and sitting down in his old chair.   
  
Sherlock looked at him and finally got up from the couch and stomped over to his chair. “She is… but she won’t come up here unless I’m gone,” Sherlock explained. “She hasn’t been up here in days.”  
  
John tilted his head. “And why exactly won’t she come up here while you are home? What did you do?” he accused.  
  
Sherlock sighed dramatically, “She hasn’t talked to me since we had sex in her kitchen on Sunday.”  
  
John choked a little and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. In the years he has known Sherlock, he had never had this sort of discussion with him. He cleared his throat and looked at him, “You are joking, right?”  
  
Sherlock looked at his friend, “No. I am not joking.”  
  
“How… I mean… how did that…. happen? Abigail??… I don’t understand. Explain it please,” John asked while fidgeting in his chair.   
  
“I don’t think I need to explain how sex works to you, John,” Sherlock stated. “Abby begged for it if that is what you mean.”  
  
John coughed more, completely blown by the statement. “Begged? Really Sherlock?”  
  
Sherlock got up and stormed around the living room. “Yes! Begged! John, I think I know when a woman begs for it!”  
  
John’s eyes widened at that statement, “But Sherlock! I thought… you never… you know.. is this why Mycroft has been texting me and asking me to stop by?” he stood up as he started to fumble for the right words.   
  
Sherlock was now furious, “I never what? John, you should go. Go ask Mycroft,” he said as he picked up his violin bow and pointed to the door.   
  
John shook his head. “Fine,” he said as he reached the door. “I guess I will just leave then.”  
  
Sherlock began to play an awful tune just to annoy John further. On the cab ride home, John could only think about what had been said. His mind was racing. It vaguely reminded him of the Irene Adler incident but this seemed more serious.   
  
“More like…feelings,” John whispered to himself as he walked into his house. “Mary? You home? I need to talk to you.”  
  
Over tea, John explained to Mary what little details he was sure of. “Sherlock… I think… has feelings for Abigail,” he hesitantly said. “I… I don’t know how else to explain it. He’s miserable. They had…sex… which is something, in all of the years I’ve known him, very unusual. Unheard of even. Mary, do you think Sherlock is capable of love?”  
  
Mary didn’t have an answer. She tolerated Sherlock because she loved John. “I don’t know, John, I really don’t know. Abigail must be hurting if she’s avoiding him though. She seemed to tolerate him better than most people I’ve known despite him constantly doing things like calling her Abby,” she said.   
  
John thought about that. “Yes, he was doing that too. That’s something he wouldn’t do. Abby is like… well, I guess it could be like a pet name.”  
  
Mary shook her head, “The little details you pick up on. I thought he did it to annoy her but he didn’t do it all the time.”  
  
“When they were here, I walked in on them talking. Sherlock said, ‘Abby look at me.’ and then said it again like he was being… kind? He was leaning in close to her which is something you don’t see often. I should have noticed it then,” John commented, frustrated that it had taken him that long. John sat back and rubbed his forehead. He was completely stunned.   
  
Mary shook her head, “What did he do though? She’s obviously avoiding him so that means something happened. I don’t even want to think about the sex,” she said, shaking her head.  
  
John smiled, “Well, who knows. He’s Sherlock. You should call her. Go out for dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe.. just maybe she will confide to  you and we can try to figure this out. If that man is in love with someone, I feel like… well, I feel like I need to be there for him. He’s probably never been in love.”  
  
Mary laughed. “No, probably not.”  
  
When Abigail got home that night, it had been pouring rain and she was soaked to the bone. All she wanted to do was to take a hot shower and eat some dinner but she noticed Sherlock’s flat was dark and most likely empty so she took the opportunity to go up and try to do some of the cleaning and drop off some groceries in his refrigerator. After a nice hot shower, she headed upstairs and knocked on the door. Relieved that there was no answer, she went in and started to clean up the disaster. Was he being a pig out of spite, she wondered as she washed all the glasses and mugs that littered the whole apartment.   
  
After the dishes and the kitchen, she focused on the living area and tidied up. There were several sheets of music composition paper on the ground. “So this is what I’ve been hearing,” she said quietly as she picked them up and tried to put them in order. Her fingers skimmed over every page and she was humming the tune out loud as she read the notes. Feeling like she was invading his privacy, she quickly put them on the music stand but not before she noticed the song that was on there.   
  
“Abby’s Song,” she mouthed as she looked at the old sheet music. He had written the date in the right hand corner and it was dated ten years prior. Her eyes quickly skimmed the page and she began to hum that song too. Instantly, she recognized it from the night that she was crying. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, shocked by it all.   
  
Her head whipped around when she heard the outside door open and Sherlock’s footsteps up the stairs. She quickly put the music down on the table and then tried to look busy.   
  
Sherlock walked in and stared at her.   
  
 _Hair wet, showered 30 minutes ago_  
 _Wearing shorts and tank top_  
 _trembling slightly, cheeks a bit red_  
 _flat cleaned and smells like vanilla_  
 _Music composition pages misplaced on side table. Likely saw her song on the music stand._  
 _Conclusion: Anxious about being in same room as me_  
  
“Good evening Abby,” he said as he walked towards his bedroom.   
  
“Sherlock,” she said, acknowledging him and then watched him disappear. She stood there confused for a moment but yelled out to him, “There are two dinners in the fridge.  I bought groceries.”  
  
There was no answer. Her eyes gazed back at the music stand and then towards his room. “Goodnight Sherlock,” she called out as she left his flat.   
  
Sherlock waited until he heard her go downstairs before emerging back into his kitchen. He sniffed the air and closed his eyes. A memory of the night in her kitchen flooded into his mind. He could remember every detail. Her smell, the sounds she made, the way she said his name as she orgasmed- everything. It had been haunting him for days now. “Goodnight Abby,” he whispered as he listened to her go to bed.   
  
Very early the next morning, Lestrade was standing in front of another murder victim in the theatre district.   
  
“Francis Delmont is her name, sir,” Sally Donovan announced as she looked through the victim’s wallet. “The last one was strangled but this poor girl had her throat slit. It’s pretty messy. Panties missing on her as well.”  
  
Lestrade frowned, “Find out where she works. See if she works in this area. I don’t know if the two murders are connected. We might have to call him in to look.”  
  
“The freak?” Sally said with disgust. “I can’t believe you want to call him in already.”  
  
“Two murders within two blocks of each other. Both young women,” Lestrade said. “Newspapers will have a field day with this if we don’t catch him quickly.”  
  
Sally shook her head at him. “Whatever you want,” she relented and then walked away to search the nearby area for clues.   
  
Lestrade texted Sherlock. “Morgue in an hour.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Why didn’t you call me to the crime scene, Lestrade? It’s far easier for me to read the situation there than here in the morgue,” Sherlock complained as he walked around the body.  
  
“She was a few feet from the main road. It was dawn and about to be rush hour. I couldn’t very well leave a victim for thousands to see,” Lestrade said. Sally Donovan walked up and stood by Lestrade and watched while Sherlock inspected the body.   
  
“About 25 years old. Worked in club industry from the calluses on her feet. Right handed but show no sign of struggle. Throat slit just under larynx. Killer was behind her and slit from left to right, indicating he is right handed and quite strong. Victim was not conscious at time of death,” Sherlock said quickly as he continued to inspect the body. “Tox report may show she was drugged,” he added. He pulled out his magnifying glass and inspected the throat.   
  
“It appears to be from a military grade knife. Perhaps issued… they tend to use the same weapon over and over,” he said.   
  
“There’s another one,” Lestrade said. “Last week. Two blocks away.”  
  
Sherlock grumbled and shook his head,”So, presumably the same murderer?”  
  
Sally nodded, “We are considering the possibility.”  
  
“Which means even idiots have come to that conclusion. I need all the files on that one,” Sherlock declared. “The throat is key to the murderer.”  
  
**********  
  
Meanwhile, John and Mary stood in the kitchen and Mary was nervously playing with her cell phone. “Just call her,” John said as he squeezed her hand. “You’ll make a great detective and Abigail, I’m sure could use a little… guidance.”  
  
Mary smiled at him, “You’re right. I don’t want to let you down.”  
  
It had been decided the night before that Mary should try and help figure out the relationship between Abigail and Sherlock. Mary was very serious about the assignment. She had heard about so many of Sherlock and John’s adventures that she just wanted for once help John.   
  
“We’ll call it the Case of the Cellist in 221C,” John joked. “You talk to Abigail and be your charming self and I will deal with Sherlock. Between the two of us, we will figure it all out.” John kissed his wife on the cheek and headed to work. Mary took a deep breath and called Abigail. It felt sneaky and Mary didn’t enjoy that feeling. She had to remind herself that she was doing this for John and Abigail.  
  
Mary arrived at Baker Street with a bit of bribery prepared. She rang the bell to Abigail’s flat and was quickly greeted by Abigail who had been painting again. A drip of lavender paint was on her cheek. “Hi Mary!” Abigail said. “Come on in.”  
  
Mary walked in and smiled, “The place looks lovely. My goodness… I knew all it needed was a woman’s touch. Where are you painting now?”  
  
“Oh the bathroom,” she replied. “The claw-foot tub deserved a better home than a dark green dungeon,” Abigail joked. “What did you bring?”  
  
Mary smiled and put the shopping bag on the table. “I have lovely flowers for you,” she said, as she pulled out a bouquet of sunflowers. “And lunch for both of us. It looks like you could use a bit of a rest.”  
  
“Oh they are lovely,” Abigail said. “Let me put them in water.” She found a vase to put the flowers in and grabbed some plates for lunch too.   
  
Mary stood in the kitchen and couldn’t help but recall what John said. She just could not imagine it. In her mind, Sherlock was a celibate priest married to his work and Abigail was too pretty and smart to ever put up with a condescending, know it all.   
  
“You alright?” Abigail asked as Mary stood staring at the table and visions of a rather unsavory sort ran through her mind.   
  
“Yes… let’s eat in the sitting room,” Mary said. “We can spread out a bit better.”  
  
The two women gathered lunch and headed into the sitting room. “I have tickets for you and John, by the way,” Abigail said as they finished their sandwiches. “So you can have a nice date night.”  
  
“Wonderful! Thank you,” Mary said. “I actually have something for you too.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a ticket. “It’s for the hospital. A charity gala at the National Museum tomorrow night,” she explained. “I’m sorry it’s last minute but there were extra tickets and I thought of you. Maybe meet a nice doctor,” she said with a wink.   
  
Abigail laughed, “Oh well…. not really looking but a night out seems like a nice plan. I haven’t been to that Museum either so it could be fun.”  
  
Mary nodded, “I think you’ll enjoy it. And why aren’t you looking, if I may ask?”  
  
“Well, you know… I don’t know if it is the right time yet,” Abigail replied. “Still trying to get over an old beau- it was a rather nasty breakup.” Breakup from ten years ago, Abigail thought but didn’t say.   
  
“Oh…” Mary said and wanted to ask more but decided to just leave it. “Well, still good for you to get out and meet people.”  
  
The two ladies finished cleaning up and Mary left to go home. Abigail smiled when she looked at the sunflowers sitting on the kitchen table and felt like things were finally starting to look up again for her.   
  
Abigail went to her cello and started to play again. Random songs that made her happy and reminded her of good things. She got lost in playing and her mind started to drift back to the day that she met Sherlock.   
  
 _“Abigail…. come dance!” my friend Patty called out. “Come on birthday girl!!”_  
  
 _It was June 30th, my 21st birthday and my friends were determined to get me very drunk and wild. We were at Stingray’s, a little beach bar set right on the sand and packed with the younger locals and a few tourists. Every weekend, they had live reggae and dancing._  
  
 _“No! I’m tired,” I called out. I felt like I could fall over from the variety of drinks they had forced me to try over the past 5 hours. Perched on a barstool, I watched them playfully dance around and grind against each other to the beat of the music._  
  
 _“Your friends are pissed,” a gentleman’s voice said next to me. He was British and had a voice that would make women weak in the knees._  
  
 _“Excellent deduction, sir,” I replied sarcastically and finally turned to face him. Our eyes met and I felt more sober and grounded. Those blue eyes that were almost too beautiful._  
  
 _“I thought so,” he replied. “And it is your 21st birthday. You no doubt have had too many different sorts of cocktails thrown at you to try but you are quickly sobering up. You also play a stringed instrument… probably the cello. You hate dancing in public and find bars annoying,” he said._  
  
 _I blinked and bit my lip nervously. “How…… I mean, the birthday thing is obvious,” I said pointing to the ridiculous tiara my friends made me where that night. “But.. the stringed instrument… how did you know?”_  
  
 _The handsome stranger took both of my hands into his and turned them over. “Here and here,” he said with a smile. “Calluses indicate stringed instrument.”_  
  
 _“But… cello?” I asked._  
  
 _“That was a bit less obvious… but when you turned towards me, I caught a peek of a tattoo on your calf, near your ankle…. the bass clef. Cello or bass. I guessed cello,” he said._  
  
 _“Oh… well, that’s…. you’re very observant,” I said, blushing just a little. “Really neat.”_  
  
 _He gave me a smile and held out his hand, “Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes,” he said._  
  
 _“Abigail Hudson,” I replied and shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I like your name,” I said shyly. “My dad is from London originally. I’m assuming you are from there as well.”_  
  
 _“Obviously,” Sherlock replied. “But that was a good deduction as well. Can you deduce anything about me?”_  
  
 _I laughed and shook my head. “Oh no, I don’t think I could.”_  
  
 _“Try,” he encouraged._  
  
 _I looked at him, “I can tell you normally never wear boardshorts or t shirts from your tan line or lack thereof. You know music well enough that… wait,” I said as I picked his hand up and inspected them. “You play a stringed instrument as well. You come from money.. I can tell by your watch. And I doubt you dance either and I picture you liking being home more than being at beach bars,” I said._  
  
 _“Very good,” he said and sounded shocked. “Violin. And yes, good call on the watch. You are better at this than most.”_  
  
 _“Is this how you meet girls?” I teased._  
  
 _“What? God no,” he said. “I just mean in general, most people don’t look at what is right in front of them. They don’t see details.”_  
  
 _I could see so many details about him at that moment. His eyes, the dark curl on his forehead that probably didn’t cooperate most days and his lips. Those damn lips that looked so kissable. Realizing that I was staring at him, I quickly looked away._  
  
 _He chuckled softly. “It’s ok,” he said. “I knew saying that would make you really look.” I shook my head, too embarrassed to look at him just yet. “So you aren’t going to look at me again because you are embarrassed?”_  
  
 _“That obvious?” I asked._  
  
 _“I think I blind person could feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks,” he said with a laugh. “I’m only teasing you, Abby.”_  
  
 _I finally lifted my head, “No one calls me Abby,” I said defiantly._  
  
 _“Well, I want to,” Sherlock replied. “and I think you like it.”_  
  
 _“No,” I said stubbornly._  
  
 _“Liar,” he said before he was interrupted by my group of friends._  
  
 _Patty sat down next to me and leaned in, “He’s cute,” she said, too loudly because the alcohol made her obnoxious. “We should leave you two alone.”_  
  
 _Sherlock stood up and smiled, “No… no need to interrupt your birthday… Please carry on, Abby.”_  
 _  
“But…” I started to say before he leaned in and kissed my cheek._  
  
 _“Happy birthday, Abby,” he whispered. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”_  
  
 _It didn’t take long to see him again. In fact, the very next day at the small grocery store  I ran into him._  
  
 _“Abigail! Darling, how are you holdin’ up?” Mrs. Cooper, the owner of the store asked. “We’ve been worried about you. I hope he gets cleared on all of these ridiculous charges.”_  
  
 _While she was blabbering about my dad, Sherlock walked in as if on cue. I was mortified. “Thank you Mrs. Cooper,” I said nervously. “I’m sure it will.” (even then, I knew he was guilty of all charges but I put up a supportive daughter front)_  
  
 _“Hi Sherlock,” I said with a smile._  
  
 _He smiled back and my heart fluttered a little. “Abigail.. is your head hurting you today?” he asked._  
  
 _“Um yes… but how…” I started to ask but then looked at the container of Advil in my hand. “Yes. A little bit.”_  
  
 _“There are other remedies. Such as drinking a lot of water and perhaps a light dinner,” he said. “Which, by the way, I could help with both.”_  
  
 _“Oh… oh, well ok,” I said. “Sounds nice.”_  
  
 _“Excellent. Meet me here,” he said, writing the address on a piece of paper._  
  
 _I looked at the address and then up at him. “This.. this is the house next door to mine. What luck,” I said with a smile._  
  
 _“Yes.. lucky,” he repeated. “Come over around 6. I’ll have something ready.”_  
  
 _I left, feeling pretty elated over the entire situation. Handsome British man who was sweet and smart. I couldn’t have asked for anything better._  
  
 _Sherlock made a simple dinner of salad and some grilled shrimp. “I’d offer you some wine but I don’t think that is a very good idea. So.. here is some water.”_  
  
 _We ate on the deck that overlooked the beach and ocean. It was the perfect spot because every night you would witness a spectacular sunset. “Are you here on vacation?” I asked._  
  
 _“No, not exactly. I’m doing some consulting work,” Sherlock replied. “And you?”_  
  
 _“This has been my home for many years. Although, I’ve been at college these past few years,” I explained._  
  
 _“I see… lucky girl,” he said with a wink._  
  
 _“Yes, I suppose so,” I replied, sounding slightly sad but he said nothing. “How long will you be here?”_  
  
 _“Hard to say,” Sherlock said as he looked over towards the ocean. “But at least a week or two.”_  
  
 _“Well, I hope you get to have a little fun while you are here.”_  
  
 _After dinner was cleaned up, we took a walk on the beach. Sherlock had this amazing brain and seemed to know everything, including every shell I picked up. As the sun dipped down and it started to get dark, we sat down on the sand. Our conversation was easy and even if there were a few moments of quiet, it was never awkward. Even silence was nice with him._  
  
 _“Do you know the constellations as well as you do shells?” I asked._  
  
 _“No,” he said. “I don’t. Didn’t seem important to learn.”_  
  
 _“Oh.” I was unsure of a response to that because what he deemed important seemed random to me. “Can I show you a few?”_  
  
 _He turned and looked at me, “Sure.”_  
  
 _I picked up his left hand and pointed his index finger to a few well-known constellations. Next, I moved it directly up until it was almost uncomfortable. “Lay back,” I said and scooted closer to him. “If we watch carefully, we may see a shooting star. It is a good time to see them,” I explained._  
  
 _“What is that?” he asked._  
  
 _I struggled to figure out what he was asking so I moved closer and put my hand back in his and had him point to it._  
  
 _“Venus,”I said quietly. “You can tell by the color.”_  
  
 _I could hear him take a deep breath and I swear that he had smelled my hair that was draped so close to his face. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered._  
  
 _“Yes, it is,” I agreed. His hand didn’t release mine and we laid there in the sand, looking up at the stars._  
  
 _“Abby?”_  
  
 _“Yes?” I asked._  
  
 _“Look at me,” he whispered and I turned my face and his was just an inch or two from mine. I saw his pale eyes sparkle in the moonlight. I smiled shyly before he kissed me gently. His hand right hand moved to my cheek and we continued to kiss until it felt right to stop. He turned his eyes back up to the sky in time to see his first shooting star. “Was that it?” he asked._  
  
 _“Yes,” I said. “Make a wish.”_  
  
 _“That’s silly,” he said bluntly._  
  
 _“Maybe but sometimes silly is a good thing and you never know, Sherlock, it may come true.”_  
  
  
Her eyes opened and she realized she had been playing the song that had been on Sherlock’s music stand. “Oh god,” she whispered as she sat still and listened for movement upstairs. “Why did I have to play that melody?” she said to herself as she hoped Sherlock wasn’t home.   
  
Sherlock’s head tilted as her playing stopped and he signaled to John to be quiet. John had arrived soon after Mary had left. “Quiet,” he mumbled.   
  
John shook his head, “I haven’t said anything for 20 minutes. You haven’t either.”  
  
“I was thinking.”  
  
“You were listening,” John pointed out. “Will you come tomorrow night?” he asked.   
  
“What? No.” Sherlock shook his head.   
  
“Do you even remember what I asked you to come to?”  
  
“No. But whatever it is… will be dull, I’m sure,” Sherlock commented, still half-listening to Abigail downstairs.   
  
“Well, that’s a shame,” John added as he stood. “Abigail even agreed to come. I’ll just leave this here in case you change your mind.”  
  
“I know what you are doing, John.” Sherlock said and stood. He walked over to his friend and looked him in the eye. “You’re investigating. You’re trying to deduce me. So go on. Let’s hear it.”  
  
John tilted his head and wanted so badly to call his friend’s bluff. “No. I’m not playing any games here.”  
  
“Do it.” Sherlock pushed.  
  
“You are a man in love,” John began. “I never thought I would see the day that Sherlock Holmes would be in love but I see it now. You are in love with, Abby.”  
  
“Abigail,” Sherlock corrected. “She doesn’t like to be called Abby.”  
  
“No, she doesn’t. She only allows you to call her Abby. If she hated it so much, she would have fussed at you more,” John said as he shifted a little. “And you. There are other things too. Your eyes soften. You are more patient with her. I watched you look at her and smile at dinner the other night. I’m not even going to bring up with incident in her kitchen.”  
  
Sherlock turned around and for a moment, John worried that he had pushed his friend too far again and waited for him to rant. “Sherlock, be honest. You love her.”  
  
“John, it is far more complicated than even you can comprehend,” Sherlock replied as he sat back down in his chair.   
  
John laughed, “Please. I’m the married one. I’ve dated more than you have. I know how complicated women are.”  
  
“True. But this…. this situation, is bigger than that.She has every right to hate me,” Sherlock admitted.   
  
John shook his head, “I don’t believe she hates you. I can’t imagine you have done anything that horrible to warrant hate. I know you. Annoying, yes. But think about this, if she really, truly hated you… would she ever have agreed to move downstairs from you?”  
  
“You are so sure of yourself, John. But you know nothing about her,” Sherlock replied.   
  
“Come tomorrow night,” John requested. “Come and make an appearance. It would help the hospital.”  
  
John left Sherlock sitting in his chair and on the cab ride home, he texted Mary. “I was right. God help us all. Sherlock Holmes is in love.”  
  
  
**********  
  
At a small Chinese take-away place in the theater district, the police were told to step up their foot patrols in the alleyways. “I really hate when serial murderers pop up,” a policeman told his partner.   
  
“I know, more walking… more annoyances,” the other responded. “The damn department is up our arse trying to make us catch him. With cut-backs, I don’t understand how they expect 4 officers catch someone in a 20 block radius. It’s ridiculous and makes us all look bad.”  
  
“What makes us look worse is that they brought Sherlock Holmes on the case.”  
  
“Really now?” the policeman responded. “Interesting.”  
  
“You working the gala tomorrow? Getting a little overtime?”  
  
“Yes, I need all the help I can get.” **  
**


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock arrived at the gala before Abigail did. John walked up and looked around confused. He had expected Sherlock to bring Abigail with him. “So, where’s Abigail?”  
  
“Late, I presume,” Sherlock answered but didn’t elaborate. John shook his head and they were soon joined by Molly and Mary.   
  
After rehearsals, Abigail had to rush home and get ready then hop in a cab to get there quickly. It was a frantic rush to try and dress up properly for this after her long day. “It’s worth it,” she reminded herself as she got out of the cab and went into the museum.   
  
The event was held in the large lobby that had several dinosaurs on display. There was enough room for about twenty tables, a bar and a dancefloor. A DJ was playing jazz for the moment but would be playing more upbeat music after everyone arrived.   
  
Abigail walked in and looked around, searching for a familiar face. Lestrade saw her first and walked up to her with a big smile, “It’s good to see you again, Abigail,” he said. “The gang is over there.” He pointed over to a table across the room. Abigail looked and saw Sherlock staring at her.  
  
“Thank you,” she said. “It would have taken me forever to find them. This place is impressive.”  
  
“Yes, make sure you stop in the planetarium. They have a show going on all night. I hear it’s not to be missed,” he explained.   
  
“Oh, I definitely won’t miss that then,” she said and then started to walk across the room towards Sherlock and the others.   
  
His eyes remained locked on her and he watched her make her way across the room.   
  
 _Navy blue, off the shoulder cocktail dress, right shoulder bare_  
 _Black heels, rushed trying to do hair and ended up putting up in a bun_  
 _neck bare, family sapphire ring on right hand_  
 _hasn’t taken eyes off of me_  
 _appears nervous and overwhelmed from the amount of people in room_  
  
Before he could greet her, Mary went rushing over to her. “Abigail, I’m so glad you made it,” she said. “You look beautiful. Blue is your color. Come meet Molly.”  
  
Abigail and Mary walked up to the others. Sherlock remained silent and observed her as she met Molly and talked to John. He cleared his throat impatiently; he wanted her to acknowledge him first.   
  
“Hi Sherlock,” Abigail said and gave him a polite smile.   
  
“Hello Abigail,” he replied and everyone just watched them. John and Mary were intrigued how they would act around each other that night. Molly laughed a little nervously, unsure what the big deal was.   
  
“I think it’s neat how they arranged this. I feel like we’re having dinner in Jurassic Park,” Molly joked.   
  
Abigail laughed with her. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes… nice attempt at a joke, Molly.”  
  
“Well, I thought so,” Molly retorted, not letting him bother her. After so many years, she had begun to ignore Sherlock and had gotten over wanting him.  
  
Abigail felt bad and touched Molly’s shoulder, “I thought that too when I walked in. It’s almost a little creepy.”  
  
After dinner, the party got louder and sillier. Most people were dancing out on the floor but Abigail stayed close to the table, talking to Molly and Mary. Sherlock was being cornered by a physician wanting him to take a case.   
  
A slow song came on and Lestrade walked up to Abigail and asked her to dance. “You and I should take a turn,” Greg offered with a smile. “You know…I’m not a great dancer but it would seem a waste not to dance once.”  
  
Abigail laughed and considered saying no but she found herself agreeing. She knew he was only being friendly. “Alright,” she said.   
  
The band started to play a slow song and Greg put his hand in Abigail’s and led her to the dancefloor. He started to tell her about a recent incident funny case involving a dog being a suspect in a murder and how Sherlock figured it out.   
  
Sherlock finally returned to the table and realized Abigail had wandered off. “Where is Abigail?” he asked John.   
  
“Oh, I think she’s dancing…” John started to say but Sherlock cut him off.   
  
“OH,” Sherlock said. “Now this is interesting.”  
  
“What is?” John asked.  
  
“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock replied, his eyes squinting. “His hand is four centimeters from Abigail’s buttocks. Oh and look,” he said as he pointed, “he just smelled her hair. Wife is obviously missing- perhaps she left him again. So here he is, dipping his toe into the single’s pool.”  
  
John snickered, “Greg is in the middle of his divorce so he can dance with whomever he wants to. He’s only dancing with Abby to be nice. Nothing is going on.”  
  
“Abigail,” Sherlock corrected, shooting him a look. “Oh now she’s laughing and holding him tighter. I do believe his hand slid down another centimeter too.”  
  
“Sherlock,” John interrupted. “Now, stay calm.”  
  
The song ended and the two of them walked towards Sherlock and John. Abigail placed her hand on Greg’s arm, thanking him for the dance.   
  
“Hello Sherlock,” Greg said. “Thought you had left.”  
  
“Well, I can see that, -Greg-,” Sherlock said with sarcasm. “And just why were you dancing with Abigail?”  
  
“Um, well… people dance at parties like this. It’s not really all that unusual,” Greg replied, genuinely confused.   
  
“Um Sherlock,” John interrupted as he stood from his chair. “Why don’t we go get something to drink?” Molly and Mary could sense something was going on and both of them decided to gather around.   
  
He ignored John’s offer and got closer to Greg and could smell Abigail on him. “Is it a common practice for you to take a single woman out there and basically touch her buttocks and sniff her hair?”  
  
Abigail’s eyes widened and she moved in towards Sherlock, “We were only dancing. He was being a gentleman.”  
  
“Oh, I highly doubt that. He smelled your hair. I saw it with my own eyes,” Sherlock said. “The only reason his hand didn’t go on your bum is because the song stopped. Thankfully.”  
  
“Wait… are you… jealous?” Greg said. “Sherlock, there is no reason to be. I was being nice to Abigail.”  
Molly and Mary looked at each other in shock. Molly’s eyes went directly towards Abigail to see how she would deal with Sherlock.   
  
“Oh, I saw and I could see from the look on your face as you leaned in to smell her hair, that you intended to be very nice to her later.”  
  
Abigail glared at Sherlock. “You don’t have any right to be jealous like this,” she said in an angry whisper. “I will never understand you!” She turned around and stormed away.   
  
John walked up next to Sherlock and told him, “You had better go after her. When they do that, they want you to follow.”  
  
Sherlock looked at his friend and and then watched as Abigail walked into the planetarium. “This is ridiculous. If Lestrade would just keep his hands to himself, I wouldn’t need to go after her,” he growled before walking away. Greg was genuinely confused now and looked at John for an explanation.  
  
“What in the hell was that all about?” Greg asked John.   
  
“Oh, well… I guess Sherlock got a little jealous,” John said with a laugh.   
  
The planetarium was a large room with rows of chairs set in circular rows. The projection area was a pit in the middle of the room. They were playing a twenty minute presentation on the skies over London on repeat all night.   
  
As Sherlock was entering the room, the projectionist tapped him on the shoulder. “The show is going to begin in a moment. Just be careful- it gets extremely dark. I’m off for a cuppa. Be back in a bit.”  
  
Sherlock scanned the room for Abigail and found her in a back row, off to the side of the room. He carefully made his way through the aisles towards her. He finally sat down next to her and she looked at him and glared. “Go away,” she said.   
  
“John told me that when women storm away, they want to be followed. Is that not true?” Sherlock asked.   
  
The show began and there were suddenly no lights in the room. Abigail leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, watching stars that started to appear.   
  
“No. I think it only applies to couples,” she said. She didn’t even know what they were anymore. She looked over at him and caught him staring at her. “Hard to deduce my mood in the dark?” she taunted.   
  
“No, not at all,” he said. “You are angry, yelling for no reason and oblivious to almost everything. And let’s not forget somewhat bitchy.”  
  
Abigail’s mouth dropped. “EXCUSE ME?” she yelled as she stood up. “Bitchy? I was dancing with someone and you walked over like you own me and acted like a spoiled brat.” She poked his shoulder so hard it hurt her finger. Sherlock smirked, making it worse. Her finger prodded his shoulder again.  
  
He stood up and took his index finger and poked her shoulder. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Do not taunt me, Abigail.”  
  
“I’m not scared of you. Maybe everyone else is but I will never be afraid of you or your brain, Sherlock Holmes. Your brain… your deductions… they do not intimidate me,” she said, her finger firmly pressed into his chest. “I don’t care if you see how angry or bitchy I am.”  
  
“I know,” Sherlock replied as he leaned in close, his face very close to hers. “You never cared or even tried to conceal who you are to me. You have always just been yourself with me,” he whispered as their eyes stared into each others.  
  
Abigail took a step back and stumbled a little, grabbing onto a chair. “Just stop,” she said as he reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her. He pulled her close to him; their bodies touching again. Sherlock inhaled sharply.   
  
“New perfume, no wonder Lestrade couldn’t resist taking a sniff” he commented. Abigail pushed away from him and as the room became pitch black, her heel caught on the chair and caused her to fall flat on the floor.   
  
“Ow,” she grumbled and she felt Sherlock’s hand trying to feel around for her, sliding up her leg. “Stop it!”  
  
“Give me your hand, woman!” he growled, insulted that she even thought he was trying to cop a feel.   
  
She reached up and poked him square in the eye, causing him to stumble enough to fall down on top of her. “OW!” she cried out again.   
  
“Calm down,” he ordered. “If you would calm down, none of this would be happening!” Her hands were pushing on him to get up but out of spite, he prolonged the effort to get off of her. Abigail was now wiggling underneath of him but he would not budge.   
  
“Sherlock, you are crushing me, you idiot,” she whispered angrily. “Get off of me!”  
  
“Not until you ask nicely,” he taunted in a playful voice.   
  
“No,” she repeated. “I’ll just stay here then.”  
  
“Now who is being a brat?” he asked. “I have all night and no care at all what anyone thinks. Security will have to drag me off of you unless you ask nicely.”  
  
“I hate you,” she said and then shifted to get more comfortable underneath him. If he wanted to play this game, she would play along.  
  
The music changed and the room became light enough so she could see his face. They looked at each other as the recording said, “If you are lucky enough, you might be able to see a shooting star during the Perseid meteor showers. Just lay back in a dark field and enjoy heaven’s beautiful show.”  
  
Abigail’s eyes looked up at the ceiling and she watched as it showed a meteor shooting through the sky. Sherlock watched her eyes look across the room and knew what she was thinking about at that exact moment. “Making wishes?” he asked.   
  
Her eyes darted back to his, “I don’t do that anymore,” she lied and then looked away.   
  
“I don’t believe that,” he whispered as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Not for one second.”  
  
She didn’t flinch away from him. “I’m so mad at you right now,” she said.   
  
“Obviously,” he stated, sounding frustrated. She huffed a little which made him smile and kiss her again, this time on the lips. “You’re cute when you are angry, Abby,” he said. “I had almost forgotten. Remember that time I accidentally pushed you in the pool when you were all dressed up?”  
  
“That wasn’t a fucking accident, Sherlock,” she replied but with a little laugh. “You most certainly did that on purpose.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Sherlock pondered as he dipped his head down and kissed her neck, causing her to sigh. “Nope, it was an accident.”  
  
His tongue ran across her neck slowly and as she attempted to talk again, all she could do was moan. Sherlock knew the right buttons to push. His tongue knew the exact spot to lick within a centimeter. “Oh god, you should stop,” she breathed out as he found her earlobe and nibbled it.   
  
“No, I definitely should not.” His hand roamed up her side, teasing her hip, causing her to wrap her legs around him.   
  
“We… we can’t… not here,” she argued even as she lifted her hips up, grinding against him. Sherlock moaned and let his fingers run down her thigh to her ass, gripping it tightly as he pressed into her harder.   
  
His mouth found her bare shoulder and he started to lick then suck on it. Abigail moaned loudly as he bit down, marking her bare skin with his teeth. “Sherlock.. stop, you’re leaving a mark,” she whispered. “Come on.. we need to get off the floor.”  
  
Sherlock got up and helped her stand up. “Stay here until it’s over,” he said against her ear. Her arms instinctively went around him and her body pressed against him. A smile came across his lips as he felt her relax in his arms for the first time in so many years.   
  
The stars moved across the ceiling as it simulated how they crossed the sky over a year. A slow, haunting piano piece started to play. She was still silent and Sherlock pondered what he should do next.FInally, after holding each other for a several minutes, the show ended and the lights started to come on. Abigail finally pulled away from him and looked up at him. He couldn’t help but lean down and kiss her again.   
  
“Excuse me,” a voice came from the door. “You two lovebirds need to leave now. We’re shutting it down for the night.”  
  
Sherlock looked over at the security guard and nodded, “Yes, of course”. He took Abigail’s hand and led her out of the planetarium. As soon as they walked away, Abigail worried that he had been standing there the whole time.   
  
“Do you think he saw us… you know,” she whispered as they walked up to the others. She was internally panicking that her hair was a mess and everyone would assume something happened.  She didn’t even realize there was a large hickey on her bare shoulder.   
  
“I don’t care,” Sherlock stated as they walked up to John and Mary. “We’re going home,” he announced. “Goodnight.”   
  
John snickered a little as Sherlock and Abigail walked away, noticing the mess Abigail’s hair was in the back. Mary looked over in shock and then back at her husband. “They make a very strange couple,” she said. “Do you think.. they.. you know?”  
  
“There… there was a bite mark on her shoulder… was that there before?” Molly asked. “Sherlock… Abigail? No. It can’t be.”  
  
John laughed at the two ladies. “There was indeed a bite mark on her shoulder and she was quite embarrassed, wasn’t she? Now, let’s not make a big deal about this. We should be happy for him, shouldn’t we?”  
  
The cab ride home was quiet. Abigail tried to say something several times but stopped. Sherlock looked at her and realized she was panicking again. “I like your dress,” he said casually.   
  
“What?.. Oh thanks,” she said and looked down at her shoulder and the bruising spot that his teeth had left. “Oh my god!! YOU left a mark on me,” she said angrily. “I can’t believe this. Everyone saw. Well, that explains the shock on everyone’s face.”  
  
“Why does it matter?” Sherlock asked calmly. “I think the bite mark looks nice.”  
  
Abigail folded her arms and pouted. He was so infuriating that she didn’t even know what to say. “Why did you get jealous tonight? We aren’t even together.”  
  
“That bite mark says we are,” Sherlock answered smugly.   
  
Abigail groaned and was thankful they were almost home. She was going straight to her flat and to bed. “Well, I say we aren’t,” she finally said.   
  
Sherlock smirked as the cab pulled up. He quickly paid so Abigail couldn’t run off. “Abby!” he said as he grabbed her arm. “Stop it.”  
  
“No,” she replied, refusing to look at him. He tugged on her until they were close, his body invading her personal space. She looked up at him and saw his smile.   
  
“Come upstairs,” he whispered. “We need to finish what we started in the planetarium. I’ll even let you leave a mark on me,” he offered.   
  
“No, it’s too complicated,” Abigail said, her eyes looking away. “I’m too confused.”  
  
“Stop it and really think, Abby,” he said. She started to shiver in the cool, summer night air and he pulled her closer. “You can read me better than most. Do you really think I only want a quick shag?”  
  
She looked up and knew that Sherlock wasn’t like that at all but it still didn’t explain 10 years ago. “No,” she whispered. “I’m cold.”  
  
“Come upstairs,” he said as he pulled her towards the door. The door shut behind her and he took off his suit coat. He didn’t hesitate and instantly was on her again, kissing her hard on the mouth. His tongue found her neck again and she wobbled slightly as her knees felt weak. “Abby,” he whispered as he nibbled by her bite mark. She pushed him away though.   
  
“No more biting,” she said and then looked at him, her eyes full of lust. Sherlock groaned and pulled her in for another kiss, sucking on her bottom lip.   
  
They stumbled trying to get upstairs, not wanting to break their kiss. “I can’t wait,” Sherlock said as he stopped in the middle of the stairs. “I need you now,” he moaned and pulled her down to the stair.   
  
“Oh…” she said as he slid his hand up her dress and pulled off her panties, throwing them down by the door. His finger played with her until she she begged for him. “Please,” she insisted.   
  
He unzipped his pants and cupped her head with his hands. His feet were planted on the floor of the foyer, giving him balance. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him. He thrusted quickly, sliding completely inside of her. Each thrust was frantic and quick. He needed to reclaim what was his.   
  
As Abigail came, Sherlock grunted and captured her in a kiss as he came soon after. After a deep breath, he kissed her neck and helped her up. She was shaking and a bit sore from the stairs. “Come on,” he said as he put his arm around her and helped her up into his flat.   
  
As soon as he opened the door, he swooped her up into his arms and carried Abigail into his bedroom. “No talking,” he said. “No guilt…no over-thinking,” he warned. “Just let us be us tonight.” He kissed her forehead tenderly as he laid on her on his bed. Her eyes looked up into his as he undressed.   
  
“Ok,” she agreed quietly. **  
**


	9. Chapter 9

Abigail sprawled across the bed; her eyes never leaving Sherlock’s as he removed his crisp, white button-down shirt. He was less lanky than he was ten years ago, she decided as she looked at his strong chest. Sherlock had become more of a man.   
  
“Are you deducing me?” Sherlock inquired, making her giggle.   
  
“You already know the answer. I decided you are less lanky than the last time I saw you bare chested,” she stated as she kicked off her shoes finally. Her cheeks were still red from their quickie on the stairs and she started to remove some bobby pins from her hair, letting it fall down to her shoulders.   
  
“Yes, well I am older,” he replied as he removed his shoes and socks. She was still watching him, appreciating even the most mundane act of neatly folding his socks and laying them across his dress shoes. “Anything else you’ve noticed?”  
  
“Hmmm…I like your hair like this. It’s slightly different. Curls are more under control but that might be because the Florida humidity was too much for them. You’re a bit more expressive… more crinkles around the eyes and forehead,” she said as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. Abigail leaned up and ran her fingertip over his cheek down to his chin. “Slight differences but you are and always will be the same to me.”  
  
Sherlock gave her a small smile and helped her up out of bed. He leaned down and kissed the crook of her neck tenderly. His hands went up her back and he unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She was wearing a nude lace strapless bra and a pair of matching panties. Sherlock bent down to place little kisses over her collarbone and reached around and unhooked her bra, letting that fall to the floor as well. “You will always be the same to me too,” he whispered even though she knew that it wasn’t true. She was sure that he had noticed every single thing- like how her breasts weren’t as perky or her thighs thicker. Abigail shrugged it off though because if he had found her offensive in anyway, he would not be doing this.   
  
He knelt down and started to kiss her tummy and hips then slid her panties down and helped her step out of them. “Sit,” he said and she did, on the very edge of the bed. They looked at each other for a moment and then he tilted his head down and kissed her thighs, then calves. Each kiss was soft and sweet. He got to her feet and lifted one up to kiss her toes and then did the same to the other. Abigail’s fingers played with his hair, twirling the little curls that lay just above his ears.   
  
Sherlock put his head back down on her lap and sighed. “Were there others? Not that I care,” he asked.   
  
“You could barely handle me dancing with Greg tonight,” she pointed out. “I don’t want to bicker over ancient history with you anymore. I don’t need hickies all over the my body.”  
  
Sherlock smiled, “His hand was too bloody close to your buttocks,” he said and looked up at her with a wicked grin. “I cannot allow that.”  
  
“For someone so smart, you get jealous easily,” she teased. “Do you really think anything would have happened?”  
  
“Oh God no,” Sherlock answered and then pushed her over onto the bed. “You have much better taste than that.” He found her hands and pinned her down. He was aware there had been others- even the one she almost married six years ago but it didn’t matter any more.   
  
“Oh I do?” she joked, smiling up at him.   
  
“Yes, you have exquisite taste in men,” he smirked before leaning down and kissing her neck and then started to suck, right below her ear.   
  
“Sherlock, no more hickies,” she warned. “I don’t want to wear a turtleneck to work in June because you have no self-control.”  
  
He laughed against her skin and licked up to her earlobe. “Fine,” he pouted before he kissed her again. He freed her hands from his and she immediately ran them through his hair.   
  
“You’re overdressed,” she pouted, feeling him getting hard. “Remove your pants, sir.”  
  
He fussed as he stood up and removed his trousers and boxers. Abigail smiled as he folded them and laid them on the floor next to his shoes. “Better?” he asked.   
  
Abigail giggled and nodded, “Now come here.” Sherlock laid down next to her and pulled her close. “Better. Much better,” she whispered before kissing his shoulder.   
  
Sherlock’s eyes shut and he held her tightly. “Abby,” he murmured against the top of her head. She continued to kiss his shoulder and chest, working her way down to his belly. He reached down and entangled his hands in her wavy hair, feeling the softness of it in his hands.   
  
Her hands pushed him to his back and then after looking up at him one last time, she leaned over and placed kisses along his hip bone to his growing erection. She slid her tongue along the length of it slowly, causing Sherlock to moan with pleasure. “Ohhhh,” he sighed contently as she took him completely in her mouth. She felt him swell with excitement as she worked her mouth up and down his shaft several times. Her fingers tickled the insides of his thighs and skimmed their way up to his cock when she took hold of it and started to stroke it. Abigail looked up at the vision that was Sherlock with his eyes pressed tightly closed and his mouth open filling the room with deep, baritone moans.   
  
She looked back down and licked at the salty precum that was glistening on the tip. “Mmmm,” she moaned on him, causing him to grip the sheets and pull at them. The vibrations of her moan sent chills through his body.   
  
“Abby,” he cried out as she freed her mouth from him; the sucking sound was loud in the room. His hips thrusted up in response to needing more. She smiled as she gave him what he wanted so badly and took him fully in her mouth again. Slender fingers found the inside of his thighs again, beckoning him to part his legs wider so she could tease his sac with one hand and stroke him with the other. He was now throbbing and she knew he was getting closer to orgasm. “Stop,” he grunted as he lifted her towards him and took a deep breath. “Not like this.”  
  
Abigail straddled him and grinded against his belly, letting him feel how wet she was for him. His big, soft hands caressed her chest and he skimmed his palms across her hard nipples, teasing them with a light touch. “Ohhhh,” she moaned as she arched her back and her head went back, beckoning him to do more. He raked his thumbs across them then pinched them both. “I need to come,” she moaned, frustrated already from his hands alone.   
  
He grabbed her hips and lifted her up, wanting to give her what she needed. Abigail down and guided herself onto him. At first, she slowly just rocked on him, letting the friction tease her clit. Sherlock paid attention to every expression and sound she made because he knew her signs perfectly. “Mmmm,” she moaned as he started to pull on her nipples again, making her ride him faster. Abigail looked down and saw his icy blue eyes staring at her. She knew exactly what he was doing.   
  
“Abby,” he moaned out as they continued to watch each other. His hands now went to her hips and he was thrusting up into her, helping her get closer. Her chest fell to his and he embraced her as he bent his knees and now was doing all of the thrusting. As soon as Sherlock moaned again, she orgasmed suddenly. He could no longer hold back and thrusted two more times before he came, deep inside of her. They moaned together, both of them out of breath. Abigail laid her head on his chest, still breathing hard and unable to move.   
  
She didn’t move for several minutes. Her head pressed against his chest, listening to his heart beat slowly return to normal. She wanted to say so much at that moment- that she still loved him and wanted to be with him forever but the words never came. She finally moved and curled up next to him, with him on his side facing her. He looked like he wanted to say something too but there were no words. Just silence.   
  
He reached over and pushed several strands of hair away from her cheek. “My Abby,” escaped his lips, barely audible.   
  
She blinked a few times, refusing to let any tears fall and smiled at him. “My Sherlock,” she mouthed as she leaned in and kissed him on the lips.   
  
He finally moved, only to turn off the lights and to help her under the duvet. In the darkness, she could still see his eyes looking at her, almost inspecting everything about her face. Abigail finally turned over and backed up against him. They spooned together silently. His arm wrapped around her protectively and she sighed contently.  
  
Abigail started to recall a time when she was struggling with sobriety and how difficult sleep had been.  It was a dark time in her life when alcohol had taken over and she had grown anxious over going to bed every night. During a therapy session, the therapist explained she should use visualization to help lull her to sleep instead of wine and to think of a time that she slept well and comfortably. That night Abigail had gone home and curled up in bed, using pillows behind her and pretending it was Sherlock holding her as he did in Florida. And now, he was really there. She felt his chest rising and falling against her back.   
  
“Abby, go to sleep,” Sherlock whispered, knowing she was busy thinking.   
  
“K,” was all she managed to say trying not to give away the tears that fell from her eyes. He nuzzled closer to her, knowing she was silently weeping (he knew by her breathing pattern, there was no hiding from Sherlock Holmes).   
  
He pushed tighter against her, comforting her silently as she fell asleep. His fingers caressed her hand as her breathing started to become deep and even. Finally, when he knew she was asleep and comfortable, he held her hand and closed his eyes. 


	10. Chapter 10

In the early morning hours, Sherlock awakened to the sound of his mobile phone vibrating on his nightstand. He carefully slipped out of Abigail’s grasp and turned to look at the phone. There were two texts from Lestrade. 

Another one. Will send address. Hurry. 

Sherlock looked at Abigail and then back at his phone. He debated about waking her but instead rushed to get some clothes and quickly dressed in the bathroom. Without a word or a note, he rushed to the crime scene. 

“Glad you could make it,” Lestrade said as Sherlock walked up. “I wasn’t sure after last night and all that business with Abby.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sherlock replied giving him an annoyed look. “Abigail has nothing to do with my work,” he said, emphasizing Abigail’s name to make a point. “He obviously has a preference of victims. All mid-twenties to early thirties, all brunettes, all dressed for the club scene. But this time.. he was angrier. Do you see the slit across the throat and how it is deeper? And he got a little sloppy with the clothes placement. The others were fixed to look just right... but this one- after he raped her, he didn’t take care of her clothes.”

“Are you saying he’s been redressing them?” Lestrade asked. 

“Yes, well...but he was interrupted. Something stopped him this time from fixing her back to normal. I get the impression that he didn’t plan this one as well,” he said as he looked around the alleyway. “Someone could have seen him or a car could have stopped down there,” he said, pointing to the main road. “There are more bruises on her hand, she fought back. She wasn’t drugged like the others. This one was awake through it all. Oh yes, he was sloppy this time.”

Sherlock paced around her and then looked down the alley and back again. Three theories were running through his mind. Then two. “He rushed. When she gets back to the morgue, text me. I have to go,” he said as he walked off down the alley to investigate more. 

“Fine,” Lestrade said, frustrated that Sherlock hadn’t given him very many answers. “Alright, let’s get this wrapped up. Get her back to the morgue.”

Abigail yawned lazily. Her eyes opened and she turned over to cuddle with Sherlock but found an empty bed. “Sherlock?” she called out as she sat up, hoping he was just in the other room but there was no answer. She walked through the flat and looked for a note or something but there was nothing. “Wow,” she muttered as she gathered up her dress and things and headed to her own flat. 

She waited for a few hours to hear from him. It took a great deal of self-control not to text him but by lunchtime, she had had enough. “Where are you?” she finally texted him and then waited.  
By dinner, there was still no response from Sherlock and Abigail had basically given up all hope. She had texted him four times. By the fourth time, she sent “Thanks for letting me know you’re alive.” and left it at that. She thought about how he asked her to just let go the night before- to let them just be together again. “Awesome Abby,” she said out loud in her lonely flat. “You fell for it again. You are an idiot.”

Instead of crying and moping, Abigail got angry. She spent the evening rehearsing and busied herself with odd chores around the building but didn’t go back up to Sherlock’s flat. The next morning, there was still no word or sign of Sherlock. 

John was heading to the hospital to meet up with Sherlock and see how the case was going but just as he reached the door, a black Jaguar pulled up and Anthea got out and walked over to John. “John, if you would come with me,” she said with a pretty smile. 

“Fine,” John said with a sigh. “He could just call me,” he complained as he got into the car. 

In twenty minutes, John arrived at the Diogenes club. John walked into Mycroft’s usual room and found the older Holmes brother sipping tea in a leather wingback chair. “Do sit, John,” Mycroft said. “Sit and have some tea,” he said as he poured John a cup. 

“I think I know why I am here. This is about Abigail, right?” John said as he sipped the tea. 

Mycroft nodded, “Very perceptive of you, John. So do tell me what exactly is going on. I am very worried.”

“Well, I believe your brother could be in love,” John replied. “I don’t know exactly what is going on but I’m pretty sure something is. He made a jealous scene last night at the charity gala. I just don’t know. I didn’t think it was possible,” John admitted. “What do you know of their past?”

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his chair and cocked an eyebrow as John told him about the gala. He cleared his throat once and started to explain. “Ten years ago, Mrs. Hudson’s husband and his brother were on trial. The brother was wrapped up in some nasty smuggling scheme to the Keys from Cuba and Mrs. Hudson’s husband had gone over there to help. The smuggling turned violent at one point and that was when they were both apprehended. But there were holes in the case. She asked Sherlock to go over there and make sure the brothers would never be released. Sherlock went over there and used... methods, some rather unorthodox methods, to gain information about the case that would help solidify the prosecution.”

“He used Abigail to get inside information about her father. He gained access to the house and found incriminating evidence to help lead him to the damning evidence the prosecution needed to lock him up and put Mr. Hudson on death row. The problem arrived when the trial came and Sherlock had to testify as an expert. Abigail realized that day what had happened and how he had tricked her.”

John’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “That’s... that’s surprising.”

Mycroft sighed, “I know we don’t look at Sherlock as a romantic or even a normal person who desires the affections of others but I believe that Abigail had truly fallen in love with him. He returned to London and soon began experimenting with drugs. He didn’t get clean for quite some time and not until his work with the police started.”

John sighed, “Do you think he loved her too? Is that why they seem to be back together now? Perhaps, he realized it wasn’t just for the case. ”

Mycroft shook his head, “No. I’m not entirely sure my brother is capable of that sort of love.”  
He took a long sip of tea. “Abigail had assured me that nothing would happen. She seemed set on the idea that she would have nothing to do with him when I spoke to her last week.”

“You spoke to Abigail?” John asked. “We may need to accept the idea that he may be in love, Mycroft.”

“My brother is not capable of it, John,” he asserted. “And every moment he is with her, he runs the risk of relapse.”

John wasn’t convinced of it though. He had seen glimpses of Sherlock that he had never seen before. “Well, I will certainly keep my eye on things.”

That night, Abigail met the ladies at a popular sushi place that was situated near some of the nightclubs in the theater district. She was looking forward to just forgetting everything and having fun. No talk or worry of Sherlock. Just dancing and chatting with the girls. 

The restaurant was full of twenty-somethings, all getting ready for a fun night of drinking and Abigail looked like she was hunting for her own fun. She was dressed in a tight pair of black jeans and a low-cut, purple tank top that showed just enough skin. Her eyes were lined with black and a splash of purple shimmer on the eyelids. All thoughts of Sherlock were locked away. She was determined to forget him once and for all. 

Tina had invited her best friend, Cathy who worked at the theater in the office and a violinist from the orchestra, Margaret. “Abigail, you look stunning,” Tina commented while they ate dinner. “Look like you’re on the prowl.”

“God no,” Abigail said. “I’m giving up men. Forever.”

“Oh, sounds like someone has been burned recently. Did the wanker cheat on you?” Tina asked with a smirk. The saki had already started to flow between everyone but Abigail so the conversation was turning colorful. 

“No, just ended up being the bastard I should have known he was. Too much fucking history to get into,” Abigail replied with an edge to her voice. She had to keep reminding herself of her 16 months of sobriety so she wouldn’t indulge. But she felt herself slipping slowly- that undeniable urge to bury the pain with some liquid comfort. 

“Ah, don’t worry, we’ll help you forget him,” Tina said and the other girls all nodded. “It’s a girl’s night... no crying over boys.”

It was after ten when they arrived at the club called The Vibe. It was a place that offered cheap drinks and no cover for ladies. There was a dj that was spinning popular house music. It was just starting to get packed with people eager to forget their daily lives. 

Tina, Cathy and Margaret were all pretty much drunk at that point from the saki at the restaurant. Abigail was frustrated but refused to go home when she knew she should. Everything in her mind was telling her to leave right then that she was about to make a huge mistake. She didn’t listen to her instinct though. 

Tina grabbed her hand and forced her out on the dance floor. Abigail didn’t like dancing but after a few minutes, she started to get lost in the fun, heavy bass beat and the swaying bodies. The four of them all danced together with random guys coming up to them and joining in occasionally. Abigail ignored them all and just danced alone. 

After dancing for almost an hour, Abigail and the girls found a table and sat down. Tina offered to get drinks and Abigail said “Just coke for me.”

Tina returned with a man who helped her carry the glasses. “Coke for Abigail,” Tina said as she handed her the drink. “And meet Paul,” she announced. “He was nice enough to help a lady out.”

Everyone said hi and the five of them sat down to drink and talk. Abigail lifted the glass and took her first sip. Rum and coke. Oh but it tasted so good, she thought. She looked down at it and felt the guilt creep up but took another drink. One night wouldn’t hurt, right?

Hours passed by in a blur. First it was rum and cokes, then it was some shots that Paul had bought all of them. Abigail watched as Tina threw herself at him- seductively running her hand up his thigh and even kissing him. He had a rugged look to him and was a flirt with all of them. 

Abigail was wasted by the time it was 2 am. As she finally stood up, she stumbled. “Woah there,” he said as he put his arm around her and Tina and announced he would escort them home. “Come on ladies, I’ll be your chauffeur tonight,” he said as they walked out of the club and into the night air.


	11. Chapter 11

Abigail groaned as she moved. Everything hurt. Her head was throbbing and hurt more as she opened her eyes. It took her a full minute to realize she was on her couch. “Oh god,” she moaned as she realized most of her night was a blur. That’s when she panicked. She sat up and tried to remember what happened after the club and how she got home. Every bad scenario ran through her head as she pushed her hair out of her face. She reached over to her purse and pulled out her phone.  
  
10:45 am and still no text from Sherlock.  
  
“Fuck,” she yelled. She was so angry with herself now. 16 months of sobriety-gone; she'd blacked out.  She was hurt again from him treating her so badly; history repeating itself over and over again. It was a vicious cycle and one she had lost hope in stopping.   
  
****  
  
  
“Tina Carson, 23. Found raped and murdered in a parking garage. Cellist in a local theater. Out with friends last night and never got home. Mother said she was to go home with her best friend Cathy but she got a ride from a man in the club,” Lestrade said as he stood in the morgue with Sherlock. “I’m assuming same suspect.”  
  
Sherlock looked at her. “Wait.. you said cellist in a local theater? Which theater?” he asked, as his mind started to race. He knew Abigail was going to go out with friends sometime this week.  
  
“Um, it says the Bellevue Theater,” Lestrade said.   
  
“Abigail,” he mumbled. Sherlock pulled out his phone and texted Abigail- ‘Text me immediately. Important.’  He paced in the room. 2 specific scenarios went through his head and neither one was good.   
  
Lestrade watched him pace. “Is Abigail in some sort of trouble?” he asked as Sherlock started to call her.   
  
“I believe so,” Sherlock answered as he texted her again.  
  
Within 20 minutes, Abigail received 8 texts from Sherlock and then two calls. She answered none of them and turned off her phone as she walked to the AA meeting. ‘Too little, too late,’ she thought as she reached the church that the meeting was held in. Her head was still hurting and so was her spirit. How could she have done this to herself?  
  
At the meeting, she sat in the back and started to listen to everyone talk. She just needed to wipe away the deep feeling of regret and pain that was firmly planted in her mind.  
  
Sherlock raced home after she didn’t answer the first call. The phone was obviously off because it went straight to voicemail the second time he called. He entered her flat quietly and looked around. He found her clothes scattered in the bathroom and knew immediately from the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on them. She had been there last night with Tina. He inspected the entire flat, looking for any signs of struggle or fighting and found none.   
  
He paced in her living room, trying to figure out the possibilities of where she would be. He looked down and saw her sobriety coin on the coffee table, the one she had been playing with that morning before the meeting. “Oh Abby,” he whispered as he ran out and towards the church where the meeting was being held.  
  
“Hi my name is Adam and I’ve been sober for 96 days,” a older gentleman at the podium said.  
  
Abigail sat defeated in the back with her head bowing down and looking at her trembling hands. She made fists over and over again to try and calm herself down. As Adam told them about being able to resist a drink over the weekend, a tear started to roll down her cheek.  
  
Sherlock stood in the doorway and relief flooded over him as soon as he saw the back of her head. He walked quietly to her row and sat down next to her. Abigail didn’t look up at whoever sat down next to her. Her hand raised up and wiped away a few tears and Sherlock caught it in his and held it. She jumped and glared at him then pulled her hand away.  
  
Eyes swollen and red, hair wet from quick shower, trembling and showing signs of being scared, still hungover and slightly intoxicated. No signs of being hurt.  
  
“Go away,” she whispered and looked back down at her lap. There was no way Sherlock would leave her though.   
  
They sat in silence in the church until well after the meeting ended and everyone left. “Abby, I need to talk to you,” he whispered as the door shut behind the last person.  
  
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said. “Go away.”  
  
“I can’t,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”  
  
“Really? Why?” she asked. “You refused to acknowledge me for two days now. What is sooo damn important that you would go out of your way to find me?” Her eyes were dark with anger now. She really wanted to just hit him and  then run away forever.  
  
“Come home and I will tell you,” he said. “I can’t get into it here.”  
  
“Why? Afraid of telling lies in front of a higher power?” she quipped sarcastically.  
  
“No,” he said as he reached into his pocket and texted John to meet him at Baker Street. “It’s not about us. It’s about Tina,” he said.  
  
Abigail looked up in panic. “What’s wrong? Is she ok?”  
  
“Not here,” he said as he stood up and held out his hand. “Come home and we’ll talk.”  
  
She stood up but refused his hand. “Fine but only because I’m worried about Tina.”  
  
The cab ride home was spent in total silence. Sherlock stared at her the entire time and tried to figure out the best way of handling everything. He was doubting his ability to have any kind of relationship with her- every single scenario in his head about her ended badly.  
  
At Baker Street, John stood up when they walked into Sherlock’s flat. Abigail smiled weakly and nodded to John.  
  
“Abigail, everything ok?” John asked.  
  
“About as ok as it usually is,” she muttered as she sat down in Sherlock’s chair and curled her legs up underneath her. She felt exposed and vulnerable sitting there in front of Sherlock.  
  
“Abigail, I want to ask you some questions about last night,” Sherlock said. “And.. I want to make something clear, this is about Tina not about you. It’s important.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Where did you go last night?” he asked.  
  
“Sushi place for dinner and the Vibe for some dancing,” she replied.  
  
“Who was with you?”  
  
“Tina, Cathy and Margaret,” she replied.  
  
“The entire time?” he asked. “No one else?” Abigail paused and Sherlock knew there had been someone else. “Abby?” he asked. “Please.”  
  
“Tina met a guy at the club. He had drinks with us,” she said, her voice getting quiet as she said ‘drinks’. “I don’t.....” she paused and looked at John and then back at Sherlock. “I don’t remember very much.”  
  
Sherlock paced and held back some anger. Why would she drink that much? He didn’t understand. “Tell me what you do remember.”  
  
“He was... nice? Bought drinks for us all. Tina was really into him and he seemed to really like her,” she said. “Did he hurt her?”  
  
“Abigail... just answer questions then I will get to that,” Sherlock said. “After the club, what happened?”  
  
She let out a sigh. She didn’t want to talk anymore; she didn’t want to admit that she been so careless to him. “I don’t remember much.”  
  
“How did you get home?” Sherlock asked, cringing a little.  
  
“He drove me home. Tina was with us.”  
  
“You could have been killed! What in the hell were you thinking?” Sherlock yelled.  
  
John stood up and went to Sherlock, “Don’t. Calm down.” He walked back over and sat in his old chair and looked at Abigail who was now crying. “Abigail, what sort of car did he drive?”  
  
“Is Tina ok?” she asked, looking up at John.  
  
John looked over at Sherlock who was still angry and looked back at Abigail. “No, she was found dead this morning. I’m sorry, Abigail,” John said. “If you could remember what sort of car you got into last night, it would be a big help.”  
  
Abigail gulped and looked back down at her hands. Blame came squarely down on her shoulders- if she hadn’t been drinking, she would have stopped Tina from going home with the man. “It was... a small car. Blue, I think.”  
  
“A small blue car, perfect,” Sherlock repeated sarcastically.  
  
“He said his name was Paul.”  
  
“An alias no doubt,” Sherlock responded. “Anything useful? Do you even remember getting into your flat?”  
  
Abigail started to sob now. She was terrified. “No.”  
  
“Abby! My god! You could have been..” Sherlock yelled and grabbed the nearest book and flung it against the wall l.   
  
“Sherlock, stop it,” John yelled. “I think Abigail is feeling bad enough.”  
  
“Tina’s dead....” she whispered. John crouched down in front of her and held her hands.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and casted a look at Sherlock. After his conversation with Mycroft, he could understand why Sherlock was so upset and angry. “Sherlock, can I speak to you for a minute?”  
  
Sherlock and John walked back into Sherlock’s room and John looked at him, “Why are you being so hard on her? If you love her, which I think you do, you should be a bit more calm.”  
  
“John, she was sober for 16 months. She drank last night to the point of blacking out,” he said. “Now, you tell me- he was in her flat, John. He was here.”  
  
John shook his head, “Then we need to get her somewhere safe.”  
  
Abigail looked down the hall and contemplated running. She stood up and made her way to the door. “Abby, do not leave!” Sherlock hollered down the hall. “Stay here!” He ran out and saw her sobbing against the door. He was so angry with her but it hurt to see her like that. “Abby,” he said as he walked over to and tried to take her in his arms.   
  
“Leave me alone,” she fussed, struggling against him. He held on tight though.  
  
“Stop it,” he whispered. “Just stop it. I could have lost you last night.” His voice was gentle and sounded calmer than before. She relented and leaned against him for a moment, allowing herself to indulge in a hug from him.  
  
John looked on and if there was any doubt in his mind that Sherlock didn’t love her, it dissipated at that very moment and he could see that she obviously felt the same. He sat back down in his chair, watching them closely.   
  
She finally pulled away and looked up at him, her eyes still burning with tears.“Why... why did you do that to me?” she asked, the words not coming out right. Sherlock tilted his head and looked at her. “You asked me the other night for us to be us.... then we have an amazing night and you just disappear again. Why do I keep falling for it? Why? Tell me! If I hadn’t been drunk last night.. I could have saved her. I would have known. I would have stopped her. Don’t you see it? Don’t you see how damned poisonous this is?”  
  
“Stop it,” he warned. “This man... he’s smart enough to get around even sober you. You can not blame yourself,” Sherlock said.   
  
“I would have been able to tell you more,” she cried. “I could have told you more,” she repeated quietly and looked down at the floor. Her head hurt so much that it made her wobble a little.   
  
Sherlock steadied her with his hands and helped her to sit down on the couch. He sat down next to her and contemplated holding her hand. John watched the confusion run across Sherlock’s face and he wanted to tell him what to do.   
  
“Abigail, do you need something for your head? Maybe you should lay down for a bit?” John offered as he stood up. “Maybe with some rest, you can remember some more details. That might be the best thing to do,” he said as he looked at Sherlock.   
  
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Abigail should lay down on my bed. I need to talk to Lestrade,” he said. “Abigail, I want you to rest,” he said as he took her hand into his. “I really think you might be in danger and even if you are angry with me, please listen to me and do what I say. Stay here with John. We’ll talk more later.”  
  
She finally lifted up her eyes and looked at him. They silently stared at each other and she could tell he was being sincere. “Ok,” she whispered. “I won’t go anywhere.”  
  
“Good,” he replied as he stood up and nodded to John. “I need to have a talk with Lestrade. Do not go anywhere. Call if there’s a problem.”  
  
After Sherlock left, John got up and sat next to her, putting a protective arm around her. “You know, he drives us all to madness. I know things are... complicated but I have never once in my life, seen him care about someone the way he does for you.”  
  
Abigail looked at John and then back down at her hands. “I don’t understand him at all.”  
  
John chuckled and got up. “No one does,” he said. “But I think if you... love him as much as I think you do, you will try to.”  
  
Abigail silently shrugged and watched John walk  into the kitchen and returned two paracetamol and a glass of water. He handed them to her and she gratefully took them. “I was filled in a little about Florida,” John said. “And I’m not bringing this up to upset you, I’m just offering my ear and perhaps a little insight if you need some.”  
  
She looked at him, “How do you know about Florida?”  
  
John frowned, “Why don’t you lay down for a bit and then we can talk? You have had a scare and I think it’s best if you rest. I promise we can talk later on. Doctor’s orders,” he said.   
  
Abigail nodded, “Ok.” She walked back to Sherlock’s bedroom and climbed into his bed. She held onto Sherlock’s pillow and pulled it against her. John pulled the door shut so she could rest comfortably.   
  
Sherlock called Lestrade and asked him to meet him at the lab alone. At the lab, Lestrade walked in and Sherlock was bouncing a ball against a cabinet. “Lestrade,” he said. “I have a situation. The killer was in Abby’s flat last night.”  
  
Lestrade ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes, positive. He drove Abby home and even was in her flat last night. I need you to assign some sort of security on her but it has to be secretive. Only your most trusted,” he said. “I think from how he’s been dumping the bodies that he could possibly a worker with the city... quite possibly a police officer. He is very aware of patrols and city cameras. He has inside information on most surveillance that occurs in the areas he has been.”  
  
“Are you honestly saying it could be one of our own?” Lestrade said, agitated at the thought.   
  
“Yes,” Sherlock replied and walked over to Lestrade. “So, someone needs to be with Abigail while I do more investigating. I want her to be able to return to work. If we keep an eye on her, we could possibly catch him.”  
  
Lestrade shook his head, “Fine. I’ll have someone come by tonight.”  
  
After an hour, Abigail emerged from Sherlock’s room feeling a little better. She had one question on her mind though. “John, tell me how you know about Florida. Did Sherlock tell you?”  
  
John looked up from the newspaper he was reading. “Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother. Don’t worry, he doesn’t know much. He just knows that Sherlock went down there to help Mrs. Hudson and he ended up getting to know you and that you fell in love with him.”  
  
“So he didn’t know that Sherlock tricked me?” she asked as she sat across from him.   
  
John shook his head, “Well yes... but Abigail, I’ve known and have worked with Sherlock for many years now. Never once have I seen him fake something that long. Yes, he’s a brilliant actor when he needs to be but.... he wouldn’t do that for a month. I think there’s something more. There’s obviously still things you two need to talk about.”  
  
She believed him. After all, if anyone would know, John would. Auntie had told her so much about John that she felt like she knew him. “Thank you,” she finally said. “Florida has haunted me for the past 10 years. I had never known anyone like him. He just looked at me and knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling. I didn’t need to tell him all the bad things that had happened while I was growing up with my father. It felt good,” she said. “And then the trial and knowing he hadn’t told me... it wasn’t so much that he sealed my father’s and uncle’s fate, it was that he didn’t tell me. I thought it was all... a lie. Every single bit of it.”  
  
John sighed and patted her hand. “That must have hurt a lot. I don’t think all of it was a lie though. If it was, he wouldn’t have acted the way he had today or even the night of the gala.”  
  
She nodded, “I know. There are other things too. He kept something from then. I found it,” she said as she walked across the room and picked up the shell from the bookshelf. “I gave it to him the night before the trial. I thought then... that maybe we would find a way to be together.”  
  
She handed it to John and sat back down. John looked at it and smiled, “I always wondered where this had come from. Even asked him once years ago and he never answered me.”  
  
“I don’t know why he even cares about me,” she said. “I’d never be his intellectual equal. I would never be able to challenge him.”  
  
Both of them were unaware of Sherlock’s presence outside in the stairwell. He had been listening since she got up from her nap.But when she spoke of her doubts, he closed his eyes and felt a little hurt at hearing her words.   
  
He opened the door and looked at them both. She was sitting across from John who still had the shell in his hand. Sherlock cleared his throat and walked over to her. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.   
  
“Yes, a nap helped,” she replied, looking up at him.   
  
“Good,” he said.   
  
“I’m trying to remember more,” she added. “I could probably give a decent description of him. It might not be enough but it’s something.”  
  
“That would be helpful,” Sherlock said as he glanced at John who was getting up to put the shell back on the shelf. “Lestrade is sending someone over to keep an eye on you. I want to be cautious since he was in your flat last night.”


	12. Chapter 12

The room was uncomfortably silent after John left. Abigail sat on the couch like she was at the principal’s office, waiting for her punishment. Sherlock paced but then sat down in his chair across the room, his chin resting on his steepled fingertips. They avoided all eye contact and any talking.   
  
There was a heavy knock on the door and Abigail nearly jumped off the couch. Sherlock shook his head at her as he walked by to answer it. It was the police officer that was assigned to watch over their flats. “Officer McBride,” the tall, lanky ginger-haired man introduced himself as. He looked like he was in his early twenties and fresh out of training. “I’ll be outside,” he told them both. “And don’t you worry, Miss, I won’t be letting anything happen to you,” he said with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes as the officer left.   
  
“I’m going to my flat,” Abigail said as she stood up and approached the door. “I have things I need to do and it appears that everything is under control.”  
  
Sherlock looked at her with a confusion in his eyes. “I thought you would just stay here.”  
  
“No,” she replied. “I don’t think that’s for the best. I need some time to myself.” She walked out the door and down to her flat. She walked in the living room and looked around. The idea that the killer was in there just last night made her tremble and then she started to dry heave, forcing her to run into the bathroom to vomit. When she felt well enough and after taking several deep breaths, she reminded herself that everything would be ok as she went over to her cello. She plucked the strings a few times, listening to see if it was in tune.   
  
She sat down with the cello and pulled it against her, hugging the neck. She pulled away and lifted up the bow and started to play scales. Her mind began to calm when she played the simple scales that she had learned long ago.   
  
Sherlock listened as she played and had an internal debate on whether he should leave her alone. Worry wasn’t something the great detective was accustomed to. It felt heavy and burdensome. Several minutes later, he made his way downstairs with a well-read volume of Forensic Pathology in his hand.  
  
Sherlock walked up to her door, noticing how it was slightly ajar. After determining it was because she wanted an easy escape route,  he pushed the door open and they looked at each other; Abigail did not stop playing  the scale. She could see the worry in his eyes. Sherlock sat down on the sofa and pretended to read the textbook.   
  
The scale paused and she looked over at him, “Why are you here?”  
  
“I could use the company,” he lied, trying to hide his concern.   
  
“Oh,” she mumbled and started to play more scales and then moved on to rehearsing some of the music from the play.   
  
Sherlock grew antsy and needed something to do. He fidgeted and drummed his hand against the furniture loudly. “I could play with you,” he offered  
casually as she switched the music sheets.   
  
“No,” she replied curtly, finding the suggestion ridiculous.   
  
Sherlock frowned and pretended to read again. He flipped through the pages loudly and sighed again out of frustration. Abigail glanced over and shook her head but continued to play despite knowing he was growing bored.   
  
An hour later and Sherlock was now pacing about her flat. “Done yet?” he asked impatiently.   
  
Abigail put the bow down and stood up. “Did you want something?” she asked.  
  
“Dinner,” he stated. What he really wanted was her attention.  
  
“Oh, well let me get right to that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Good thing you reminded me, I might have forgotten to serve you.” She walked into the kitchen and slammed some things around which made her feel  better.   
  
Sherlock stood in the living room watching her from a safe distance. He smirked a little as he watched her dig through her refrigerator, bent over and her bum wiggling around. He blinked as he realized his train of thought was going down that road and tried to clear his mind.   
  
“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking at the weird expression on his face.   
  
Sherlock cleared his throat and shook his head, “Nothing.”  
  
Dinner was simply a grilled cheese sandwich and some cucumber salad. Abigail barely ate. Her stomach was nervous enough and it felt like it would revolt if she tried to eat something.   
  
“You haven’t eaten anything,” Sherlock commented. “Are you still hungover?”  
  
Abigail shrugged and dumped the remaining piece of sandwich and most of her cucumbers into the trash can. “I think I’m just nervous.”  
  
“You’re safe,” he said, trying to reassure her.   
  
“Sure,” she said, her voice not very convincing. He watched as she headed back into the living room and turned the television on. He stacked the dishes in the sink and then put on the kettle. Sherlock didn’t like her not eating and seeing her so distressed.   
  
By the time the kettled boiled and the kitchen was clean, he walked out and found Abigail drifting off to sleep on the couch. He grabbed the pink afghan off the recliner chair and covered her with it. He squatted down and touched her cheek very softly before he sat down in the recliner and had some tea.   
  
Abigail moved on the couch and fell into a deeper sleep. A few hours passed by and she began to wake up just a little- caught in time between sleep and wake. Dreams flooded through her mind as she began to wake up.   
  
Hearing muffled sounds and the squeaking of a car. She tries to focus but can’t.  It is a blur- only shadows of people moving around.  
  
Someone pushing her down to the  pavement. Tina laying next to her. “Tina?” squeaking out of my mouth. Focusing..  
  
Blood. Tina’s eyes open, staring vacantly towards me.  “Tina can’t talk right now,” a voice cackles then laughs louder.   
  
His face. Inches from hers.  The smell of bleach, vomit and blood stinging her senses.   
  
Cold metal scrapes across her neck then his hands wrap around it, squeezing it. “You are next,” the voice says. “tell that genius boyfriend of yours.... you’ll be next.”  
  
  
“NO!” Abigail screamed and bolted up. “NO!! TINA!!”  
  
Sherlock hurried to her, “Abby.. stop. It was just a dream. Shhhh,” he said as he grabbed her shoulders and tried to get her to focus. “Look at me.”  
  
Abigail looked at Sherlock and blinked. “But... it was real,” she said, crying now. “It was real.”  
  
“It was only a dream,” he repeated. “A dream.”  
  
“He said to tell you I’m next,” she cried. “I’m next. I’m next....”  
  
“No, it was only a dream,” Sherlock said, getting frustrated. He doubted that she was remembering anything. She had been sleeping soundly before waking up. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re coming upstairs and sleeping up there with me. You’re a mess.”  
  
Still sobbing, Abigail tried to fight him but was stopped when he picked her up and started to carry her up the stairs and into his flat. He kicked the door shut and took her down the hall, placing her on the bed gently. “I know you’re angry and upset,” he said. “But you and I both know that you’ll sleep better here.”  
  
He left the room and went to lock the door. By the time he returned, she was under the covers, facing the opposite wall and crying. Without saying anything, he got undressed and put on a pair of pj bottoms before climbing into bed. She moved closer to her edge as he slipped under the covers. “For god’s sake, Abby, I’m not going to do anything to you,” he whispered and turned away from her, frustrated that she wouldn’t allow him to comfort her.   
  
He listened to her cry herself to sleep and when he was sure she was, he finally allowed himself a few hours of sleep.   
  
The next morning, Abigail woke up to the smell of tea and burning eggs. A teacup dropped to the floor and was followed by Sherlock yelling, “Bloody hell”.   
  
She got up and slowly walked down the hall, feeling like another headache was coming on from all the banging around Sherlock was doing. “What are you doing?” she asked as she rubbed her eyes. .   
  
“Making breakfast,” he said like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Sit down.”  
  
She sat down and was served a plate with toast and a fried egg that was half-uncooked and half-burnt. “Thank you,” she managed to say with a straight face and proceeded to butter her toast. Her stomach lurched at the idea of eggs- especially any that Sherlock made.   
  
Sherlock took his seat and watched as she ate the toast.  
  
“Aren’t you going to eat?”  
  
“No,” he said. “It interferes with thinking.”  
  
“Ok,” she commented before taking a sip of her tea.   
  
“Abigail,” Sherlock started to say and then paused. “I need you to respond promptly when I text you. Yesterday, I was...well, concerned for your safety and you ignored 8 texts and allowed 2 calls go to voicemail. It was unacceptable that you ignore me like that.”  
  
“Excuse me?” she said, instantly annoyed. “Why should I answer you if you refused to answer mine?”  
  
“Yours were based on sentiment and occurred primarily after your serotonin levels were raised after several orgasms.  Mine were serious and based on verifying your safety,” he stated.   
  
Abigail’s mouth dropped open and she put her teacup down. “I don’t even know how to respond to you right now,” she mumbled and got up from her chair. “And apparently your serotonin levels are never elevated because if they were, you would have answered mine!”  
  
“No, I have better control over my....Abby... wait,” he said, following her to the door. “Promise me, you will answer my texts. Promise.”  
  
“Sherlock, leave me alone,” she said. “I’m going home.”  
  
He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him, “Promise me.”  
  
“Fine,” she muttered and avoided all eye contact with him and pulled away from him. She finally looked up at him, the pain clear in her eyes. “Let me go.”  
  
Sherlock dropped his hands and nodded. “I’ll be out today. Police will be here. I assume that your rehearsal will be cancelled too.”  
  
Abigail was already crying when she reached her door. She didn’t even want to be home but anywhere was better than being in the same room as him. He was so cold one minute then warm the next. It was all very confusing to her.   
  
While in the cab, Sherlock texted John.   
  
_Meet me at Barts. Send Mary to Abby, she shouldn’t be alone right now. SH_  
  
John looked at his phone and then at Mary. “Sherlock asked if you could go see Abigail. She’s pretty shook up and well, I’m sure she’d like some company.”  
  
Mary tilted her head, surprised Sherlock had suggested it before John did. “I can do that. He’s right, she could use a friend right now.”  
  
An hour later, Mary arrived at Abigail’s flat with a bundle of parcels in her hand. “I heard that you could use some company,” she said with a small smile.   
  
Abigail gave her a smile and let her in. “I suppose I could. What did you bring?” she asked as she followed Mary into the kitchen.   
  
“Some groceries, some nice bath salts in case you’d like a soak in the tub,” she said as she pulled out the bath salts and some packages of biscuits and crisps. “Some chocolates and a few things to make some nice sandwiches,” she added. “Oh and two chick-flicks. I figured telly would get boring and who doesn’t love fawning over cute men?” She handed Abigail two dvds- Love Actually and Pride & Prejudice.   
  
Abigail managed to smile, “Thank you.. this means a lot to me,” she said as she hugged Mary, close to tears. “I’m so upset over everything... and you coming over and well, it makes me feel better.”  
  
“Oh dear, I know you’ve been through a fright but Sherlock will keep you safe,” Mary replied. “John and him are working the case right now. Before you know it, it will done and over with. Now, let’s get you some lunch and we can fawn over Hugh Grant,” she said with a nudge.   
  
Mary stayed with Abigail until almost dinner time. There was still no word from Sherlock so Abigail started to run a bath. She lit some candles and put on some soft music in hopes it would all help her relax. Her phone was left sitting on the coffee table in the living room.   
  
When it got to be late, Sherlock looked at John and said, “You go home to Mary. I’m going to finish up a few things then check on Abigail.”  
  
“Right... just be easy on her, Sherlock,” John commented as he put on his coat. “I know you were angry with her yesterday but she’s obviously hurting.”  
  
Sherlock looked over at him and rolled his eyes. “Good night, John,” he said as he pulled out his phone and looked his one new text.   
  
_Brother, it might just be easier to send her home to Florida. She’d be safe there. Give me the word and I will arrange it. MH_  
  
Sherlock didn’t bother to respond to it but instead texted Abigail.   
  
_Text me. SH_  
  
Abigail’s phone sat ignored on the coffee table while she was in the bath. Classical music concealed the sound of her phone as she soaked in the tub.   
**  
**


	13. Chapter 13

   
  
Sherlock texted her three more times then called twice. No response. When the cab pulled up to 221 Baker Street, he ran to the door and rushed in.   
  
He paused in the foyer and looked around for anything that was out of place. _Vanilla candles lit, faint smell of lavender bath salts, telly on, no signs of distress._  
  
He opened her door and walked in, finding her laying on the couch in her nightgown and watching “Pride & Prejudice”. Her hair was still wet and made the collar of her purple nightgown wet and was clinging to her shoulders and back. She looked up at him, noticing the scowl on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she sat up.   
  
Sherlock walked in front of the telly and unbuttoned the sleeves of his black shirt and started to roll them up to his elbow. “Abigail, what was the one thing I made you promise me this morning?”   
  
Abigail stood up. “I said I would text you back,” she said and snatched the phone off of the coffee table and then noticed she had missed several from him while she was in the bath. “Oh oops!... Sherlock, I’m sorry.. I was in the bath and I didn’t hear it over the music...”  
  
Sherlock was angry at her and interrupted, “I don’t want to hear excuses, Abigail. I don’t know how else to tell you that this is serious and your safety is at risk. I cannot protect you if you refuse to follow the rules.”  
  
“Sherlock...” she started to say but he took a step towards her. She looked up at him, refusing to let him intimidate her. His posturing always had an affect on her though and goose pimples emerged on her arm.  “You don’t need to lecture me about the situation. It was a mistake.”   
  
“Abigail, you cannot afford to make any mistakes. You’ve made enough as it is,” he said, his face getting close to hers. They glared at each other- him getting more angry and her getting more obstinate. He noticed everything though- including the goose pimples, her dilated pupils and increased breathing rate.   
  
She put her hands defiantly on her hips and glared back at him. “I’m well aware of the many mistakes I’ve made,” she said. “I am not a child and you have no right to lecture me about it.”  
  
“Oh I think I have every right. If I could, I would have you over my knee right now and spank that petulant attitude out of you,” he growled.   
  
“You wouldn’t dare,” she replied, challenging him and not moving away.  
  
“Oh I wouldn’t, would I?” he said as he firmly grabbed her arm, sat down on the couch and pulled her across his knee in one swift movement. Abigail kicked a little, trying to get out of his grasp but he held her down firmly. “Stop,” he said. “The sooner you stop moving, the sooner we will be done.”  
  
His hand pushed her nightgown up as soon as she stopped flailing about. “This is ridiculous,” she said and her words were met with a swift smack.   
  
“Abigail, don’t add to it,” he said as he pulled her panties down, exposing her pale, firm buttocks and admiring the pink mark left from his last smack. “Now, I believe 10 will do it. Not including the one you just got,” he announced. “Count for me.”  
  
“No,” she said, wiggling a little in his lap but unable to really move out of his grasp. “I will not count for you.”  
  
He tsked loudly and smacked her right cheek hard. Sherlock was well aware of just how much strength to put behind each smack so it wouldn’t bruise too badly for her. “Count, Abigail,” he commanded, using a very stern voice.  
  
“Fine,” she muttered, relenting control. Her eyes snapped shut in anticipation of the punishment as he rubbed her cheeks.   
  
Sherlock’s hand raised and slapped her left cheek. “Oww.. one,” she cried. He smirked at her and then repeated it. “Two,” she squeaked out.   
  
“Good,” he said. “8 more to go.” His eyes looked down at her and he admired the hand prints he was leaving on her skin. Two more strikes and Abigail was getting very uncomfortable and angrier by the second.   
  
“Four,” she cried out, tears coming to her eyes from the pain.   
  
He rubbed the cheek softly then rubbed down her her thigh, her legs parting slightly as his fingertips grazed the inside of them. He could feel the heat radiating off of her and knew that if he explored her labia, he would find her wet with excitement. He realized his own body was reacting to spanking her and shifted uncomfortably when his erection grew almost painful. “Sherlock, please finish,” she begged. “You’re being cruel.”  
  
He smirked at her plea because she was oblivious to his own situation. He suddenly smacked her relentlessly 6 more times, not stopping for her to count. By the time he was done, a couple of tears were rolling down her face. “There,” he said. “All done. That’s a good girl.”  
  
She didn’t move off of his lap; the shock and pain of it made her feel paralyzed. He smiled as he looked down and rubbed her lovingly then slid her panties back over her sore cheeks. Abigail stood up, a little wobbly and definitely humiliated from the entire experience. She was also desperately trying to hide the burning desire she had for him at that moment. She turned the other way, grasping the arm of the couch for stability. Abigail swore to herself that she would not initiate anything with him.   
  
He stood up quickly to grab her, steadying her so she wouldn’t fall. “Abby,” he murmured against the back of her ear, his voice was soft now. He pressed his lips to her shoulder. His body pushed up against hers and she felt how hard he was, causing her to moan softly. “I need you right now...” he said, kissing her shoulder again.   
  
She stood still and he licked her neck, “Please... Abby,” he whispered. His hands found their way to her inner thighs, parting her legs. His fingers made their way up to her panties  and he rubbed her through the thin material. He could feel the wetness begin to soak through them.  
  
“Oh God,” she moaned loudly.  He quickly slid them down to the floor, unable to stop himself from feeling just how wet she was. His cock throbbed with need making him groan as he slid two fingers into her to feel  just how soaked she was for him.   
  
She heard his zipper and then the sound of his trousers and pants dropping to the floor. “Lean over,” he said as his hand pushed her down and her fingers gripped the arm of the couch tightly. With one thrust, he was deep in her. She yelped a little as he hit her sore cheeks with his body. He put his fingers through her wet hair and pulled it a little as he started to thrust slowly in and out of her. Abigail moaned loudly and pushed back against him, despite being tender. He started to thrust harder with each moan she let out but made sure not to hurt her unnecessarily.   
  
She was up on her tiptoes as they fucked against the couch. His hands gripped her hips to pull her body up so he could bury himself as deeply as he wanted. He wanted all of her. “Oh yes,” he groaned as he felt her tighten against him, her orgasm close. “Come for me... Abby,” he begged as she screamed out as her orgasm rolled through her body suddenly.   
  
He started to thrust harder and more erratically. His fingers dug into her hips as he neared orgasm.Just as he reached the very edge of climax, he pulled out and left the head of his cock just in between her labia and watched as his seed covered her labia and dripped on the floor. “Oh my Abby,” he moaned, the sight of marking her as his thrilling him.   
  
She leaned on the couch to catch her breath and regain her composure while Sherlock pulled up his boxers and gently caressed her back. Silently, she walked into the bathroom and started the shower. She was fearful of requesting any cuddling from him because of how he admonished her over it the last time they were intimate.  Sherlock stood in the livingroom and was confused at what she was doing- he had expected her to hold onto him, wanting his gentleness and kisses. He walked towards the bathroom, peeked around the corner, and watched as she went into the shower to clean herself up. He smirked when he heard her curse as soon as the hot water hit her sore bottom.   
  
After removing his clothing, he walked into the bathroom and opened the curtain to the shower. They looked at each other for a moment but she turned around and started to squirt some body wash on the washcloth. He climbed in and took it from her and proceeded to slowly wash her entire body using extra gentleness around his red hand prints. “Abby,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. He knew she was resisting touching him. “Stop,” he begged as he pulled her into his arms finally and waited until she relented and wrapped her arms around him tightly.   
  
The silence was difficult for him to understand. It was in these moments, after making love with her, that he too succombed to his primal need for love and comfort. It was, afterall, natural. But she was fighting it and he decided that he detested when she tried to be something she was not because she thought it would please him.   
  
Sherlock watched as she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself and her hair. He turned off the faucet and attempted to dry off quickly so he could follow her. When he was done, he found her on her bed, still wrapped in her towel. “Abby?” he said quietly, as he kneeled down next to the bed and looked into her eyes. “You do not have to deny your needs,” he said. “Even I have them right now.”  
  
“Even the great Sherlock Holmes needs cuddling?” she taunted sarcastically.   
  
“Yes,” he replied as he climbed into her little bed, making her move over for him. “Even I cannot fight some hormones and chemistry. I never have been able to fight it with you.”  
  
She looked up at him and frowned. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you’ve done a much better job of it than you give yourself credit for.”  
  
“You only think that because you do not hear my internal thoughts,” he responded as he touched her cheek with his thumb. “I will not leave without a note or text next time. But Abby, I am who I am,” he said, his eyes searching for hers acceptance. She nodded silently.   
  
She sighed and stopped herself from asking him a question. He watched the debate flash on her face and then tilted her chin so that she would look up at him. “Ask me,” he stated.   
  
“No,” she replied. “I can’t. I don’t want to know.”  
  
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did love you then,” he finally admitted out loud. She looked at him puzzled and then hurt flashed through her eyes. He watched the wave of emotions cross over her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.   
  
“I still love you, Sherlock. That hasn’t changed,” she said in a moment of bravery. “I guess it never will. I’m stuck like this.”  
  
He rolled on top of her and she looked up at him with confusion. “Let me make something clear to you, Abigail Martha Hudson, since you can’t seem to get it through your head,” he said with his authoritative voice and she began to brace herself for the worst. “My feelings have not changed either.”  
  
Abigail blinked and glanced up at him and caught his eyes reading her face closely. He really did not want to have this conversation again and it was important to him that she no longer questioned him or his feelings. “Well, good,” she replied finally, making him smirk and roll off of her.   
  
“What’s with the spanking? That’s new.” she commented, changing the subject to something less serious. “Must have learned that from a bratty ex-girlfriend.”  
  
He shook his head as he turned to lay on his back, “Yes, that was new. Interesting,” he commented with smirk. “And no, I did not learn it from anyone else. Abigail, I know you have had approximately five... no, six other lovers in your life, including that dreadfully dull accountant -Keith- that you were engaged to- none of which have ever had the good sense to take you over their knee,” he said with heavy sarcasm on her ex-fiance’s name. “But I should inform you that I have had only one lover in my entire life.”  
  
Abigail sat up and looked at him, “Me?”  
  
“Excellent deduction,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes again. “Now, stop with the ancient, boring history which has zero bearing on our lives right now and continue with the post-coital cuddling.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” she responded sarcastically as he pulled her closer to rest on his chest.  “Sherlock? Will you find him?”  
  
“Yes,” he responded as he kissed the top of her head. “I will absolutely find him.”   
  
Abigail sighed and closed her eyes. “I have one more question. Can I go to her funeral?” she asked. “The details should be out tomorrow. I’ll go with an escort if I have to.”  
  
“Yes, you’ll have to. I will try my best to make it happen for you,” he said, knowing it would be important to her. “For now, we have to wait and see what his next move is. I’m positive he’s anxious to work the entire city up into a frenzy of fear.” **  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter is a flashback of Abby and Sherlock's relationship. I needed to understand their beginnings better so I took the time and explored how they were the first time they were intimate. Chapter 15 will resume the regular story. :)

Florida Keys, 10 years ago-

 

Ever since Abigail’s birthday, Sherlock and Abigail saw each other every evening. This particular night  would mark their fourth dinner together and despite the little disagreement in which Sherlock asserted that they were not having dates, Abigail knew differently.   
  
Sherlock appeared in her driveway with a scooter that the house rental provided. She giggled as she came out to see their mode of transportation that evening. “Do you even know how to drive one of these things? I can drive if you want,” she offered.   
  
Sherlock grimaced, “Allow you to drive? I think not.” His eyes looked her other, appreciating her purple sundress and a matching flower she wore in her hair.   
  
“That’s a bit sexist,” she teased as she hopped on behind him.   
  
“No, not sexist. It isn’t proper,” he replied and smiled as she wrapped her arms around him as they made their way into town. He relished every little bump that pushed her against him tighter.   
  
“That purple is the same hue as the lilacs that would bloom in my backyard every June,” Sherlock mentioned as they looked at their menus. “Dark Violet could be considered the technical name of the color.”  
  
Abigail looked down as her dress and smiled. “Should I take that as a compliment?”  
  
Sherlock tilted his head, “Sure,” he said. He noticed Abigail beaming at him and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. It was an odd thing with Abigail, he thought. He was struggling with these emotions that seemed to want to dominate this thoughts. His attention to details revolved around her whenever she was near. It was like he had tunnel vision.   
  
The case against her father would be easy to prove once he could gain access to her house. He was fairly certain there was a secret compartment in the man’s desk that would hold the information the prosecution needed to solidify their case. But Abby...  
  
He looked over at her as she ordered her meal, watching how genuinely nice she was to the waiter. Her kindness to the people here was refreshing, he decided. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, her lips that were just big enough for him to want to kiss all the time...  
  
“Sherlock?”   
  
“Uh yes?” he asked, coming back to the room and looking into Abigail’s eyes.   
  
She giggled and looked at the waiter, “He does that sometimes. Now please tell the man what you want to eat.”  
  
Sherlock frowned and ordered. “My apologies,” he whispered after the waiter left. “I was deep in thought.”  
  
“About?” Abigail prodded.   
  
Sherlock smirked. “Nothing important.”  
  
Abigail leaned across the table and whispered, “I saw you staring at me, Mr. Holmes.” She leaned back and winked at him playfully.   
  
His heart jumped a bit which took him by surprise. Over dinner, they talked about music and their favorite composers. She may not have impressed him with any useful knowledge but she was very well-versed with music, particularly the fact they had a mutual adoration for certain composers and time periods. Music helped him think and helped her escape- but it was something that connected them on a deep level.   
  
After dinner, they headed back to the house. “I won’t let you fall,” Sherlock said as they made the sharp turn and he could feel her press her head against the back of his shoulder.   
  
He pulled up into her driveway and turned off the little scooter. Abigail hopped off and then looked at the house. “I had a nice time,” she said as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.   
  
Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him. “Abby,” he whispered before he kissed her.   
  
The kiss ended and Abigail smiled shyly. “Do you... I mean... Would you like to come in?” she asked, knowing full well he would know what she meant.   
  
Sherlock paused and considered the repercussions of sleeping with her. Looking up into her eyes, he could never have resisted- so he followed her into her home.  The detective in him immediately scrutinized the home, searching for potential evidence but was immediately distracted when Abigail called to him, beckoning him to the back deck.   
  
The sun had set and it was dark but the waves were illuminated by the moonlight. “Come sit,” she said, patting the spot on the bench next to her. Sherlock sat down and immediately took her hand into his. There was little to say. Abigail was nervous and Sherlock knew why. She wanted him but didn’t know how to take that next step.   
  
His mind raced around different scenarios. He calculated what and if he should do anything and just as he had settled on going home, Abigail’s fingers let go of his and came up to trace his jawline. His eyes closed and he felt his body react to the simple touch. Never before had it been that instant.   
  
Abigail’s index finger traced the outline of his lips. He kissed her finger and then turned to her and found her lips with his. His mind slowly stopped racing and the only thing he could focus on was Abigail.   
  
When the bench was no longer comfortable, Sherlock stood up and took Abigail’s hand. “Lead the way,” he instructed and she started to lead him upstairs to her bedroom.   
  
The room still had reminders of her childhood. A couple of antiques porcelain dolls sat on her one dresser, pictures of Abigail and her high school friends were framed and put on her wall. It was distinctly feminine and almost childlike, Sherlock decided as he inspected every detail. Abigail stood a few feet away from him, patiently allowing him to look around. She was patient with the same odd behavior that most people found frustrating.   
  
“Any surprises?” she finally asked. “I mean.. was it what you were expecting?”  
  
“Well, a few... but not surprising... just more information,” Sherlock commented.   
  
“Well.... tell me,” she asked, wanting to know just what he figured out.   
  
Sherlock paused and for the first time, debated whether or not he should tell her what he knew of her life. Usually, he wouldn’t pause or care what the reaction was but with her, he felt like he needed to be cautious because he cared what she thought. “Sherlock, come on,” she said. “I promise I won’t get mad,” she encouraged.   
  
“Your father was mean and probably physically abusive,” he started to say as he looked at a picture of her, her father and mother. “Most likely meaner to your mother who because she wanted his wrath to focus on her and not on you. Your high school years were spent putting up a happy front- your friends were shallow but you wanted an escape, most likely because your home life was unbearable at times. Music is and always will be your therapy but I knew that already. You still sometimes sleep with your teddy bear which was given to you by your aunt at age 5. Your mother decorated the room otherwise you wouldn’t have chosen this particular shade of pink. No, you would prefer a pale blue. Your comforter set is new and reflects your tastes better.   
  
“It bothers you to be here. The memories are painful but yet, you had little choice and there is a part of you that has idealized your childhood so you are able to focus on that and tolerate being here- most likely because when you are here, you are reminded of your late mother,” he said, finally finishing despite seeing more. He kept his other judgements to himself in fear that it would hurt her even more. He glanced over at her and prepared himself for the worst.   
  
Abigail stood in front of him and although she knew she should be mortified, she was relieved. He saw her. The real her. Sherlock looked at her. “I’m... Abby, you asked me to,” he said, taking a step towards her, fully expecting her to take a step back and yell at him.   
  
“I know,” she said, not moving and looking up at him. “I just... that was...amazing,” she said. “I wish...  how I wish, I could see things like that about you.”  
  
It was sincere and it made Sherlock momentarily speechless. “Why would you want to see me like that? What if it was just as... painful? What if you decided you didn’t think I was so worthy to stand in your bedroom?”  
  
“Because I would know you- just like you know me. You know a lot about me and yet, you’re still standing here,” she pointed out as she took his hand. She squeezed it tight and then pressed her lips against it. “You will never cease to amaze me, Sherlock.”  
  
He smiled down at her and then kissed her. “Abby,” he whispered as he stroked the side of her cheek, his eyes closed. She looked up at him and saw the relief on his face. It occurred to her that perhaps people weren’t so kind and accepting when he saw through their walls. She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the bed.   
  
“Are you... are you sure?” he asked, feeling the unfamiliar tinge of nervousness and excitement at the same time.   
  
Abigail giggled, “I’m relatively sure you know the answer to that.”  
  
Sherlock smirked and nodded, he was aware of what she wanted. He was also very much aware of how much he wanted it too- which was an entirely new experience for him. During his years at university, Sherlock had spent time trying to figure out what the big fuss was about sex. His mind was so focused on studies and learning but occasionally, he was tugged in a more human direction and wanted to know what was the big deal.   
  
He went about it by conducting experiments. First was a woman that he found physically appealing but intellectually dull. The sex was mediocre and rather dull. Second was a woman who he found adequately smart and slightly physically attractive.The sex was still dull. As far as a young Sherlock was concerned, sex, while at times was pleasurable, wasn’t as big as deal as his peers made it out to be and he made the decision to not let it rule his behavior. Abby was far from perfect, he thought to himself. So why did he want her?  
  
Abigail sat on the bed in front of him, hugging him and pressing her head against his stomach. She let out a soft moan- since the moment he kissed her for the first time a few nights ago, she had imagined this very moment several times.   
  
She looked up at him and ran her hands up his thighs. “Take off your shirt,” she whispered and after he did, she kissed around his belly button playfully. Sherlock moaned and couldn’t stop watching her as she caressed and kissed his lean chest and stomach. Her fingers glided down to button of his trousers. She looked up at him one more time to make sure it was ok to remove them. His smile was her answer.   
  
Sherlock watched her fingers unbutton and unzip his trousers. He became acutely aware of how intimate this moment was. Perhaps his experiments didn’t take intimacy into account, he considered but then his attention was drawn out of his mind to her hand sliding over his erection. He moaned and any thoughts of experiments were gone out of his head. Abigail smiled and then leaned forward, breathing her hot breath over him and then slid her tongue over the waistband of his boxers.   
  
Her hands pulled them down then she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock playfully, causing him to gasp and hold onto her shoulders. She teased him like that for a few moments until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Please Abby,” he asked of her. “Please let me feel your mouth around me.”  
  
Her hand wrapped around him- applying just the correct amount of pressure, he thought. She flicked her tongue over the tip then she took him completely in her mouth, causing him to buck his hips towards her. “Ahhh,” he cried out as she worked her way up and down him slowly. His hands gripped her face and his eyes watched her every movement. I could orgasm just like this, he thought. As soon as the thought went through his mind, he stopped her with his hands, his cock still in her mouth. “My turn,” he smirked as she let go of him and he pulled her up so she was standing in front of him.   
  
His head tilted down to kiss her shoulder. He reached behind her and unzipped the summer dress she was wearing, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes danced across her skin- despite already seeing her in a bathing suit, seeing her in panties and a bra made things different. He knelt down to brush his lips across her breasts while his fingers unhooked the bra before pulling it off of her. Her measurements ran across his mind, the smell and taste of her skin were firmly placed in his memory as his tongue ran across her nipple.  
  
Abigail’s hands played in his dark curls but when he started to suck on her nipples- taking his time with each one fairly, she tugged on his hair and moaned. She shifted slightly which he took as a sign that she needed more so his slender index finger made it’s way to her panties and he rubbed her through them, feeling just how excited she was.   
  
He moaned as he found her hardened clit, teasing it lightly with his fingertip with slow, deliberate circles. He sucked on her nipples harder as he felt her react by spreading her legs just a little for him. Sherlock felt an intense desire to just throw her down and have his way with her but he refused to rush this. He wanted to savor each splendid moment. He felt her getting weak in her knees so he helped her to the bed and made her lay across it, her legs dangling off the side.   
  
Abigail was a little nervous because there was only one other time in her life that a man had wanted to please her orally. Her eyes met Sherlock’s and he understood then why she was nervous. Sherlock wasn’t exactly experienced in this either but he was very knowledgable about the female anatomy and the physiological responses that will happen. His eyes watched over her as he kissed her inner thighs. “Lay down,” he said and she did, giving up control. He knelt on the floor in front of her, giving him the best angle.   
  
At first, he teased her with his tongue- slowly licking and tasting her but never quite focusing on her clit. He wanted her to slowly build up but he also wanted to learn everything about her. She was soon writhing on the bed, moaning and trying to thrust herself up against his mouth. But each time, he denied her and continued to taunt her.   
  
Just as she started to beg by calling his name, it was then he finally focused on giving her the release that she desperately needed. He pressed his face against her and quickly found her clit with his tongue, circling it just as he did with his fingers earlier. Abigail’s hand found this head and she pushed him tighter against her, forcing him to work quickly.   
  
He reached down and positioned her feet on his shoulders. He peeked up at her to look at the glorious sight of her wiggling around, so very close to orgasm. His eyes shut and he pressed harder on her, listening to her body’s cues.   
  
Abigail’s eyes opened wide and she started to come just as he thrusted two fingers into her. “Sherlock,” she moaned out as the pleasure pulsed through her body. He backed off a little, knowing she would be sensitive and needed to catch her breath. He kissed her thighs again then stood up, teasing her thighs with his fingertips.   
  
“In my nightstand drawer,” she said, looking up at him. He nodded, grateful that she had exactly what they needed next.   
  
He smirked as he opened drawer and found the box of condoms and a small tube of lube that was just purchased that day. Without hesitation, he rolled one on and applied some lube so she would be as comfortable as possible.   
  
After joining her on the bed, he brushed her lips with his as he lingering over her. She looked up and smiled at him while she hooked her legs around his and nudged him. “Impatient Abby,” he commented as he rubbed the tip of his cock in between her lips and against her clit, causing her to groan.   
  
“Yes, sorry,” she whispered.   
  
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m impatient too,” he admitted. She pulled her legs up around him and he thrusted into her for the first time. Both of them moaned in unison. She cupped his face in her hands and they looked at each other as Sherlock started to move slowly.  
  
He couldn’t think about anything other than her. How she felt, her breathing, the way she slightly lifted her hips up to him with each thrust- they were the only thing in his mind and it felt incredible. No distractions, no trying to remember an obscure book he read three years ago- just the blissfulness  of their physical and emotional connection and of the pleasure of being intimate with her- his Abby. He raised his head up and quickened the pace, his body needing more. Minutes went by, their bodies still working together. She lifted up her legs and wrapped them around his back. “Oh god,” he groaned as he felt himself slide deeper into her.   
  
He knew she was close when she closed her eyes and moaned out his name. He thrusted harder and felt her body respond by tightening around her. He continued to fuck her through her orgasm and then he couldn’t last any longer. His movements became erratic and she pulled him down on top of her, holding him as he orgasmed. “Oh Sherlock,” she cooed in his ear.   
  
He felt her heart beating against his chest and how they were breathing in unison. He nuzzled against her neck to lightly place kisses near her ear. “My Abby,” he murmured without thought to how it may sound to the woman that was so very smitten to him. His guard was completely down for a split second.   
  
“My Sherlock,” she responded and ran her hand through his hair. “Will you stay tonight?” she asked, slightly concerned that he would rush out.   
  
She felt him smile against her face and he nodded, “Yes, of course.”  
  
After they cleaned up, they headed downstairs to the kitchen- Sherlock only in his boxers and Abigail in a tshirt and panties. She opened the fridge while he wandered around the kitchen and dining room, looking at pictures and for possible evidence. He was starting to feel torn about using his time here to investigate but figured Abigail would never know anyway. He would simply provide the evidence to the prosecution under the agreement that he would remain anonymous.   
  
“Whatcha doing?” Abigail asked as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.   
  
Sherlock smiled, “I was just looking at this ridiculous picture of you dressed up as a princess,” he said.   
  
“I was 6 and everyone knows every 6 year old girl is a princess,” she replied.   
  
His hands came to hers and squeezed them, “There are many women who believe that they are still princesses,” he said. “And I do believe, Abigail, that you may toy with that very fantasy occasionally to this day.”  
  
“What did you want to be when you were 6?” she asked as they swayed together just a little bit. “A fireman? Policeman? Maybe a soldier?”  
  
“Pfft,” he groaned and then pulled her around so he could see her face. “A pirate,” he said. Abigail laughed and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him.  
“Alright Captain,” she said. “Take me back to bed.”  
  
Sherlock smirked and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder to carry her upstairs. Abigail giggled the whole way, “Are you sure you didn’t want to be a fireman?”  
  
“Listen wench, I am taking you to my chambers and am going to have my way with you. No more talking of firemen,” he said. She smacked his butt as he walked upstairs, making him giggle.   
  
The next morning, Abigail woke up to Sherlock touching her face. “Abby,” he whispered. “Wake up.” He had been watching her sleep for the past hour  and had formulated a plan on how to maintain his anonymity during the case so she could be spared any pain.   
  
She groaned and pulled herself closer to him. “No, you kept me up too late,” she said. Sherlock kissed the top of her head and recalled how they had spent most of the night making love.   
  
“I know but it’s almost noon and well, I should go work for a bit,” he said quietly. Abigail kissed him before he could say more.   
  
“Go,” she said. “I... I am wow, am I sore,” she said as she moved to sit up. Sherlock laughed which made her glare at him. “Why are you laughing? It’s your fault.”  
  
“Mmmm, I’m glad it is,” he said as he stood up and started to get dressed. “You need some recovery time anyway- especially since I have every intention in seeing you tonight.”  
  
She smiled as she watched him get dressed. His hair was a wild mess and there was a hickey on his chest. Sherlock leaned down and kissed her again, really not wanting to leave. “Rest up,” he said with a wink and then left.  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

A dark fear fueled by the unsolved murders and stoked by the media settled over London just as an unbearable heat wave began. The sticky heat and the realization that there was a serial murder loose in the theater district had everyone on edge. People were cancelling and demanding refunds on their tickets; they didn’t want to take any chances. This was, of course, ignited by the media’s latest obsession with the murders and the fact they had dubbed him “Theatre Slasher”. Rehearsals and the opening of Abigail’s play was postponed until the following week, out of respect for Tina.

Tina’s funeral was scheduled for that morning, just a few days after Abigail and Sherlock seemed to come to an understanding over their past. While it was a relief, Abigail was still struggling with a deep fear that she was next and there were moments of flashbacks which she believed to be real.

“Lestrade is sending Donovan over to escort you to the funeral,” Sherlock said as Abigail appeared in his living room. He glanced up from his chair to look at her. “She will, no doubt, keep you safe.”

Abigail kept her disappointment to herself over the fact he wouldn’t escort her himself. “Alright,” she muttered as she sat down in the chair across from him and sighed. She was sweating just from the walk upstairs. The decision to skip the nylons and just wear a simple black dress and heels was a good one. Stockings would have been outright torture.

“I am heading to the hospital. I want you to go to the service and come directly home,” Sherlock instructed. “Nothing else. And do not speak to the media.”

Abigail nodded. He really didn’t need to tell her not to talk to the media because she was terrified of them even approaching her. “I will text you when I get home,” she said.

There was a knock at the door; both of them looked over in unison. “Come along,” he said as he held out his hand and walked with her down to the front door. The door squeaked open and Donovan stood there, looking annoyed and uncomfortably hot.

“Abby, remember,” he said quietly, causing Donovan to look up at the sound of his tender tone of voice. “Just the service and straight home.” Sherlock looked into Abigail’s eyes and recognized the signs of impending tears and gave her a hug. “It will be fine. I promise.”

Abigail leaned into him, grateful for the comfort. Donovan’s eyes widened at the sight of Sherlock hugging her but remained silent. Abigail followed her into an unmarked car and headed to the funeral service.

Within ten minutes of Abigail leaving, Sherlock’s phone buzzed and he looked at it.

_Found another one. Meet me at morgue- Lestrade_

Sherlock stormed in and looked at Lestrade. “Where was this one? And why didn’t you contact me immediately?”

“Because... she walked up to the hospital door and collapsed. She was alive and had this in her hand,” Lestrade said as he handed Sherlock a folded piece of paper.

Sherlock opened up the blood-stained paper and read it.

Did your drunken whore of a girlfriend tell you what I did to Tina? Did she give you the message, oh great detective?

Sherlock’s rage flared but he calmly folded it back up and handed it back to Lestrade. He turned away and for a split second, Lestrade thought he was about to leave. “Did Abigail give you any more details that I’m unaware of? Because I would like to know, Sherlock.”

“She had a damn dream the other night. I thought it was just a dream,” he said quietly as he faced the door. “But she was legitimately afraid and only said that he told her that he was coming for her. I didn’t question her; she was in an utter panic over it. I guess it might have been a flashback, a memory of sorts.” He was furious at the situation and himself for not prying her for more information.

“Well, it seems that Abigail is a target and we need to be even more careful,” Lestrade said as he pulled out his phone and began to text Donovan. _Do not let her out of your sight. New information has been received and she is a confirmed target. As soon as funeral over, take her to headquarters._

“There, after the funeral, Donovan is to take her to headquarters. Until then, we need to decide what to do with Abigail and get her completely out of harm’s way. Any suggestions?”

Sherlock looked at Lestrade and considered several options, including his brother Mycroft’s offer to send her home to Florida. “We need to focus on capturing him,” he said. “Not worry about Abigail. He wants us to be distracted by this. He’s taunting me and wants me to focus on Abby.”

He pulled out his phone and texted John to meet him as soon as possible at Baker Street. His eyes glanced down to the dead young woman with brown hair almost the same shade as Abigail’s. Was this how it would always be? Men going after her because she was his? Sherlock looked away and then left the room without another word, leaving Lestrade confused.

Tina’s funeral was chaos- news trucks, reporters and cameramen all crowded around the small church. Policemen lined themselves around the perimeter so reporters wouldn’t be able to get inside and question people. Abigail kept her head down as she pushed her way to the door, unaware of a particular set of eyes watching her every step.

Donovan sat next to Abigail as the service began. Tina’s mother could be heard sobbing loudly as the priest began to pray. There was a string quartet that played in honor of Tina’s love for classical music. Abigail pulled a tissue out of her clutch just as a sad hymn started and she leaned over and started to sob. Donovan reached over and touched her back, trying to comfort her but stayed professionally distant from the situation.

The service ended and mourners started to leave. Abigail tried her best to stop crying and focus on getting home without anyone talking to her. Donovan held onto her elbow and directed her outside to the car. “Oh pardon me, Miss,” a policeman said as he bumped into Abigail, almost to the point of her stumbling to the ground.

Donovan turned around and pushed him out of the way, “Abigail,” she said as she took her arm. “You okay? Get out of the way, you oaf. Hurry to your next post!” Donovan fussed as she stared down the policeman who had a grin on his face.

“Fine.. fine, sorry again, Miss,” he said and walked away.

Abigail watched him walk away and had lingering thought that she recognized his voice. Donovan tugged her again and pulled her to the car. “Really Abigail, no lingering. You need to come with me to headquarters,” she said. “Lestrade’s order”

When John arrived at Baker Street, he discovered Sherlock standing in Abigail’s living room. “What’s going on?” John asked as he walked into the small room. He could see from Sherlock’s posture and how his hands were folded that he was deep in thought.

“Well, the ‘Theatre Slasher’,” he said with heavy sarcasm on the media’s name for the killer, “has directly threatened Abby. She had a nightmare the other evening... or what I thought was a nightmare but was in all probability a memory that was surfacing. Abigail is en route to Scotland Yard as we speak. I’m sure Lestrade will try to question her but that is not my biggest problem.”

He walked over to John and looked at him, “Mycroft offered to send her home. Florida... where she would be safe. I am uncomfortable, John, with how she is a target because of me. I don’t know what to do. Logically, getting her out of London would be the safest.”

John looked up at his friend and recognized the worry on his face. “Sherlock, she might have been a target before he realized who she was. I think it’s too soon to assume that. Would she willingly leave London?”

“No, most likely not. But staying at Baker Street is not wise either,” Sherlock said. “I can’t be out on the case and protect her at the same time. It won’t work.” He turned away and walked to his violin and started to play.

“Call Mycroft then,” John said loudly, trying to be heard over the violin. “Maybe for once, you’ll let your brother help you.”

Meanwhile, Abigail sat at a conference table at headquarters, waiting for Sherlock or someone to tell her why she was there and not at home. After twenty minutes of waiting, she got up and started to leave, only to be intercepted by Lestrade. “Abigail, I need you to come with me,” he said as he pulled her into his office. “Please sit.”

Over the next hour, Abigail was questioned about the man whom she met at the bar with Tina. She recounted everything she remembered and admitted to having dreams about him which she didn’t think were real but Lestrade was starting to be too interested in her nightmares. “You think I’m having flashbacks?” she asked suddenly, cutting him off.

“Well, it might be a possibility,” Lestrade responded. “Do you think you could describe him to an artist? A sketch would be useful to us.”

“I.... I could try,” she said. She wanted to be helpful but found this all very overwhelming and emotional.

“Good,” he said and then made the call for the forensic artist to immediately report to his office.

“After that? Can I go home?” she asked, wanting so much to go back home and hide from it all.

“We’ll see,” Lestrade replied. He was waiting for Sherlock to show up and take her somewhere safe. He assumed the detective wouldn’t want her at Baker Street.

It took almost two hours with the forensic artist to get a sketch. Abigail was beyond exhausted at that point and pleaded with Lestrade to go home. Lestrade nodded and led her to the conference room where Sherlock and John were waiting.

“Please tell me I can go home now,” she complained. “I’m exhausted and want to go lay down. It’s been a long day.”

Sherlock looked up at her, “Well, I’m sorry but that is not going to happen. It’s unsafe for you to return.”

“Wait... what do you mean?” she asked.

“A victim this morning confirmed your nightmare as real. The killer left a note for me,” Sherlock said bluntly. “He’s specifically targeting you, Abby, to get to me.”

Abigail held back from crying because she didn’t want to appear weak or intimidated. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Go to some safe house?”  
John looked over at her and nodded, “That’s exactly what we were thinking.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock and John escorted Abigail out of the police department and straight into a waiting car. “Where are we going?” Abigail asked.

****

“Somewhere safe,” Sherlock replied but didn’t elaborate.

****

John leaned over and patted Abigail’s hand, “We want you to go stay somewhere safe for a few days until all of this is sorted out. No one will know where you are except us which makes it safer than Baker Street.”  
  
Sherlock stared out the car window and remained silent. His face appeared annoyed so Abigail didn’t question him. Abigail’s big brown eyes stayed on him for a few moments until Sherlock finally looked back at her- their eyes remaining on each other as if they were having a silent conversation. John looked back and forth at each of them- trying to figure out what they were communicating to each other but gave up and just looked out the window.

****

The car pulled up at a  townhome  that was located in one of London’s poshest neighborhoods. Sherlock helped Abigail out, his hand remaining locked with hers until the front door opened. Mycroft’s assistant Anthea escorted them to an elaborate study that was lined with mahogany bookshelves and filled with old tomes. Abigail sat down on the chestnut brown leather loveseat that faced two large leather wingback chairs. “Whose house is this?” she asked finally.

****

Sherlock didn’t answer her but John sat down next to her and smiled, “It’s Mycroft’s townhome.”

****

Sherlock couldn’t resist peeking back at her to gauge any reaction that she had but she still carried the same look of exhaustion and worry. “You’ll be staying here until this is over,” he started to say as Mycroft walked in the room.

****

“Miss Hudson,” Mycroft said as he gave her a polite nod. “John.... Brother,” he continued, giving them both a nod. “Sit down,” he told Sherlock. After Sherlock was seated, Mycroft looked at Abigail. “Miss Hudson, are you sure you wouldn’t allow me to fly you back to Florida? Rather than deal with all this messiness- would it not be more simple to just go home?”

****

“Abigail, do not respond to that,” Sherlock said angrily. “She is not going home because she is home, Mycroft. London is her home and I will not have some crazed lunatic driving her out of London.”

****

“I see. Well...then I suppose you staying here until things are resolved is the only other solution.” Mycroft gave Sherlock a displeased look. “I can assure you that you are safe here though,” he added as he glanced at Abigail.

****

Abigail looked at him and politely responded, “Thank you, Mycroft.” It was comforting to hear Sherlock insist that she stay in London because it was his way of saying how much he loved her.

****

John, the ever-friendly one, smiled at Abigail and patted her knee. “I’m sure it will be over soon and you’ll be back at Baker Street in no time at all. Sherlock will come get you when it is all over.”

****

“Alright,” she said, managing to give him a smile. “Hopefully I won’t be imposing for long.”

****

“No, you will not be,” Sherlock said. “This should only take a few days. Two days at the most. Do not call anyone. Do not leave this house. Promise me, Abby.”

****

Mycroft looked at his brother then at Abigail with his eyebrow raised as he considered the relationship that had formed between the two of them. Abigail nodded solemnly and then softly said, “I promise, Sherlock.”

****

“Good, you will find some clothes in the room you will be staying in. I needed your cello to remain at Baker Street but I’m sure you can find something else to occupy your time. Perhaps the piano?” Sherlock offered. “John and I must go. Mycroft, do be nice,” he said.

****

Mycroft stood up and waited to walk them out but Sherlock lingered in front of Abigail. The awkwardness of the situation was not lost on Sherlock but he genuinely did not care what his older brother thought. He held out his hand for Abigail. She assumed he was only being polite but as soon as she stood up, he took her into his arms. “It won’t be long,” he whispered. “Just ignore my brother if he is rude,” he said louder so his brother could hear. Mycroft sighed loudly. “Get some rest... promise me.”

****

Abigail nuzzled against him, inhaling his scent and kissed his shoulder one last time. “I promise. Be careful.”

****

Sherlock smiled as he pulled away. “Let’s go catch him, John,” he said dramatically, the joy of the hunt overtaking his mind once again and he practically skipped out of the house with John tagging along behind him.

****

Mycroft looked at Abigail, “Upstairs, third door on the left,” he said. “If you need anything, please do not hesitate. There are two people that work here, all of which can be of assistance. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”

****

As he walked away, Abigail exhaled and began to make her way to her assigned room. The house felt like a museum to her- filled with antiques and perfectly in order. As she walked up the stairs to her room, she kept her eyes open for pictures of the brothers (especially of Sherlock) but found none.

****

Her assigned room was distinctly feminine. The main focus of the room was the ornate, antique four-poster bed which was adorned with a luxurious floral comforter and a ridiculous amount of pillows. For a moment, she wondered who would sleep in this room but was quickly distracted by the sight of her luggage sitting on a chest below the window. She opened up the bag and found a couple of outfits neatly folded along with one of her library books that she had just taken out.

****

The very first thing Abigail did was take a long bath. The tub had enough room for two people and it was pure heaven to be able to wash away the worries and pain of the day. After she was done, she got dressed and looked for her phone but realized it was missing. Sherlock was going to kill her, she thought as she panicked and raced downstairs to find if she left it in the study.

****

Mycroft was sitting in the room as she walked in. “I’m sorry... but I seemed to have lost my phone,” she said as she went to the couch and started to dig through the cushions.

****

“That’s probably because Sherlock took it with him,” Mycroft said. “He’s probably worried about trackers and such. He took it from you when he hugged you.”  
  
“Oh,” Abigail replied. “I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry for bothering you.” She wanted to make a hasty retreat back up to her room because she felt sorely underdressed in her yoga pants and t-shirt.

****

“Hmm,” Mycroft replied, somewhat annoyed about the entire situation. “Abigail, please sit for a moment.”

****

Abigail looked at him and felt completely uncomfortable standing in front of him with wet hair and bare feet. “Um.... ok,” she muttered as she sat down. The absolute last thing she wanted was a lecture from Mycroft.

****

“I feel the need to remind you of our previous conversation,” Mycroft said. “Do you remember when we were at the cafe and I asked you what your intention was?”

****

“Yes, I remember,” Abigail replied.

****

Mycroft shifted in his chair, “Well? What happened? You have to be aware of the fact that he is incapable of a normal relationship. That there will be no future. Married to his work, I believe are his words.”

****

Abigail frowned, “Are you under the impression that your brother is incapable of being in love? That perhaps, he cannot or does not want a relationship? Because since I’ve been here in London, everyone has made it a point to be completely shocked and tell me how impossible it is. Let me ask you something, Mycroft. Is it possible that you don’t really know or understand your brother?”. She paused and considered her words carefully. “I would never claim to understand him completely but to say he doesn’t need or want a connection with someone is foolish. You may not like the idea of me and what it may bring but I think he has made it clear what he wants and everyone should respect that.” She was proud of herself for not raising her voice or getting upset. Mycroft sighed loudly and frowned.

****

“Abigail, I only bring it up because I worry about him,” Mycroft finally said. “If this is what he wants then I will not do anything to stop it,” he said. “But I shall caution you to be careful- he does attract a certain element as you are quite aware of now. I don’t say that to frighten you but situations such as this may occur again.”

****

Abigail swallowed hard. It was true that this killer had targeted her specifically to get at him but she couldn’t predict the future any better than Mycroft could. Certainly Sherlock had thought about this too, she considered.

****

Mycroft smiled at the reaction that flashed over her face. A little seed of doubt planted, he thought to himself. “I will not be home for dinner but I will have something prepared for you,” he said. “And Sherlock is right, you should really rest. Today has not been easy, has it?”

****

“No, it has not,” Abigail said as she stood up. “Good evening, Mycroft.”

****

By the time she got back up to her room, all she wanted to do was collapse on the bed. She curled up and dozed off until there was a soft knock at the door. She opened it and found a young woman standing in front of her with a tray. “I’m sorry for waking you,” the servant said. “I’m Marie by the way. I’ve brought you some dinner.”

****

Abigail opened the door all the way and watched as Marie put the tray down at the small table near the window. “Is there anything you need?” she asked politely.

****

“No, thank you,” Abigail said. “I’m fine. Can I ask a question?”

****

“Sure, of course,” Marie replied.

  
“Whose room is this?”

****

“Oh, well.... it’s Mother Holmes’ room. When she visits, she stays here,” Marie responded. “I... I overheard that you and Sherlock are well.. a couple. If you get bored later and need something to do, Mother Holmes keeps a few photo albums in the armoire.” Marie gave her a silly wink.

****

“Oh... well, thank you. Thank you very much,” Abigail said, a big smile coming across her face. Marie quietly left and Abigail went straight to the armoire and removed one of the albums to look at while she had some dinner.

****

The photographs were mostly posed holiday pictures. The Holmes family standing in front of a Christmas tree or at a birthday party. It was very proper and almost stiff looking. Smiles looked forced- particularly Sherlock’s face. He always appeared bored. “Adorable,” she whispered as she reached a random candid shot in between all of the posed family pics. It was a picture of a young  Sherlock in a pirate’s hat, chasing an awkward teenaged Mycroft with a wooden sword. The brothers looked close in some of the pictures which in a way, made her like Mycroft just a little bit even if she knew he did not like the idea of her very much.

****

Three albums later and all of them returned safely to their exact spot in the armoire, Abigail collapsed into the bed and fell asleep.

****

..................

****

Meanwhile, at Baker Street, preparations had been made for their anticipated visitor. Sherlock was convinced beyond a doubt that this man would show up that night to claim Abigail as his next victim. Sherlock had set his trap perfectly.

****

All they had to do was wait.

****  
  



	17. Chapter 17

 

Sherlock’s plan was simple- set the trap and wait. The decoy (John) would do exactly what Abigail would do most evenings- play cello, take a bath and watch some telly. The killer would either strike while ‘Abby’ was in the tub or while ‘she’ was laying on the couch. He was also positive that Abigail’s mobile phone was being tracked which is why he took it from her and brought it home with him.

****** **

“Are you serious? I don’t want to take a bath,” John complained.

****** **

“John, you really aren’t going to take a bath. Just go in there at 8:55 and fill the tub. Music should be playing as well to make it authentic,” Sherlock said as he looked all around the room, making sure every detail was just right. All the curtains were drawn but the windows were opened. “Now... follow the schedule just as I said.”

****** **

“Right,” John said as Sherlock put on a recording he made of Abigail practicing.

****** **

Sherlock turned and looked at John, “See you in a bit,” he said, entirely too pleased with himself.

****** **

The night dragged on. John made the movements throughout Abigail’s flat, just as Sherlock had wanted. After the recording stopped, he got up and put on the telly while he ate. Sherlock, on the other hand, was upstairs playing the violin.

****** **

8:55 arrived and John went into the bathroom and started to run the water for the tub while music played in the background. He didn’t hear Sherlock leave the building but rather sat on the seat of the toilet while he ‘pretended’ to bathe. At  9:12, he drained the tub and paused for a few moments before heading back out into the livingroom where it was dark. He flipped the telly on and laid on the couch with a blanket so he could disguise himself just a little.

****** **

After midnight, an intense thunderstorm started to cover London. Lightning lit up Abigail’s flat and the slow rumble thunder rolled through the air. John yawned as he laid on the sofa, impatiently waiting for their visitor to arrive. Sherlock had stopped playing the violin long ago and was sitting in his chair with his hands steepled beneath his chin as he waited patiently.

****** **

The electric flickered twice and then the entire block lost all power. A loud clap of thunder shook the building and big raindrops started to beat against the roof and windows. John looked towards the sole window in Abigail’s living room. His eyes straining through the darkness to see if anyone was in the small alleyway. The curtains blew open as the wind gusted suddenly.

****** **

Lightning flashed again and John saw a shadow move in the alleyway. He instinctively reached for his gun but remained on the sofa without moving. John knew from the many years of working with Sherlock that more than likely the detective was already two steps ahead of the situation. There was another lightning strike then a loud crash of glass from Abigail’s room.

****** **

John ran to the bedroom with his gun drawn. His training kicked in as he slowly peeked around the corner before entering the dark room. Lightning flashed-  lighting up the room again. Two dark figures were struggling and knocking things over in their path. “Sherlock!” John yelled as he tried to make out who was who in the room and took another step in. Both men were the same size and John waited with his gun drawn and aimed on the two fighting men. Grunts and swearing filled the room.

********** **   
  
  
  


Light filled the room again and a reflection of a knife caught John’s eye. “He has a knife!” he yelled before moving towards the fighting men. Thunder shook the room again, followed by another flash of light. John could see now which man was Sherlock and rushed at the intruder and threw himself at his legs, throwing him down to the floor.

****** **

“Took you long enough,” Sherlock said as he quickly tied the man’s hands together and then proceeded to drag him out to the living room. “Call Lestrade.”

****** **

John took a deep breath and made the call to Lestrade. The flat was still pitch black so after he was done, he walked back to the living room using his mobile as a flashlight. “You think you are so smart,” the intruder growled. “Your stupid, whore girlfriend begged me to fuck her that night. Did she tell you that?”

****** **

Sherlock turned and looked down at the intruder who was kneeling on the floor. Without a word, Sherlock rushed him and started to punch him repeatedly on his face. John just let him do it until the man dropped to the floor unconscious. Sherlock looked over at John, “Well, hopefully he’ll be silent until Lestrade gets here.”

****** **

John shook his head and walked over to Sherlock. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I bet you and Abby will be happy to have some peace and quiet now.”

****** **

“Peace and quiet is boring,” Sherlock responded. “But I suppose Abigail will enjoy it. It is good to know that she’ll be safe now. I don’t like the idea of anyone targeting her because of me.”

****** **

John nodded, “If there is anyone in this world that could keep her safe though, it would be you, Sherlock.”

****** **

Sherlock looked over at his friend and smiled at the confidence that he had in him. “Yes, I suppose you are correct, John.”

****** **

*************************

****** **

Abigail’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of Sherlock’s voice. “Abby,” he whispered. “Wake up.” Her eyes searched his and without a word, she knew that the ordeal was over. “I told you a day or two,” he said, his face softening with a smile.

****** **

Abigail held back from crying as best as she could. It had been so traumatic and stressful. Sherlock climbed into the bed and pulled her into his arms. She seemed so fragile to him and he was really beginning to wonder if they should be together or not. “Thank you,” she whispered and placed a kiss on his cheek.

****** **

Sherlock turned and found her lips with his. “You’re welcome,” he replied as touched her cheek. “It was easy,” he gloated before he touched her cheek with his long fingertips and then let them linger on her lips. His eyes grew serious suddenly. “Abby, if you... if you want to leave, you can. I would not hold it against you. I don’t know if you can handle this sort of life,” he said quietly. It was a difficult thing to say considering how it almost sounded like he doubted his ability to keep her safe from vengeful criminals.

****** **

“Do... do you want me to? Would it be easier for you?” she asked, now concerned that he didn’t want her again.

****** **

“No,” he admitted in a rare moment of vulnerability. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

****** **

“Ok, then it’s settled.... I will stay,” she said as she placed a thoughtful kiss on his lips. “And don’t worry... I’ve been on my own for a long time, I can cope if you go on cases and disappear. It was the uncertainty that hurt me so much, not your absence.”

****** **

Sherlock’s eyebrow lifted. “Are you implying you enjoy time away from me?”

****** **

“I think everyone needs a break sometimes,” she said with a giggle. “Can we go home now? As much as I love all the space and the luxury, I miss Baker Street.”

****** **

Mycroft was eating breakfast when Sherlock and Abigail announced they were going home. “Thank you, Mycroft,” Abigail politely said.

****** **

“You’re welcome, Miss Hudson,” Mycroft said, looking slightly relieved that she was going. “Sherlock? May I have a word privately?”

****** **

Abigail walked back out into the foyer to give the brothers some privacy. Sherlock waited for his brother’s impending lecture. “What exactly are your intentions?” Mycroft asked as he stirred his tea. “Shall we expect wedding bells and some toddlers running about soon?” His words were heavy with sarcasm and Sherlock smirked, knowing his older brother was trying to get under his skin again.

****** **

“Mycroft, I was unaware of your interest in my love life,” Sherlock replied with sarcasm. “As for Abigail and I... I don’t really see how it is relevant to your life.”

****** **

“Well I am your brother and I’m sure Mummy would like to know if her... youngest.... plans to wed,” Mycroft said.

****** **

Sherlock shook his head, “Do not bring Mummy into this. There are no plans to wed.”

****** **

“Very well,” Mycroft replied.

****** **

Sherlock left the room silently and found Abigail in the foyer. She looked up at him, questioning him with her eyes. “Mycroft says the funniest things,” Sherlock said with a smile, completely amused at his brother’s line of questioning. “He was worried we were going to get married and have babies,” he announced flippantly.

****** **

Abigail didn’t know if she should be more concerned over Mycroft or the fact that Sherlock found it so ridiculous. “I see,” she said as they went outside and hailed a taxi to go home. Abigail looked out the window and was unusually quiet on the way home which Sherlock noticed but didn’t comment on.

****** **

As they headed to the front door, Sherlock stopped her. “I should warn you,” he said. “Your flat is wrecked.”

****** **

“Hmmm ok,” she said as they walked down to her flat. As they opened the door, she saw the ruins the living room was in from the fight. “Blood on the floor? Jesus,” she swore as she looked around. Thankfully, Sherlock had had enough sense to put her cello upright or she would have really been upset. “Are... are you hurt?”

****** **

“Me? God no,” Sherlock said. “He’s probably feeling uncomfortable this morning,” he said with a smirk. “Your bedroom window is broken so  you are going to need to get that fixed... and you might need a new bed and lamp... and rug..,” he said giving her a laundry list of things that were broken.

****** **

Abigail stood in front of her bedroom with her mouth open in shock. “Oh great,” she said as she looked around.

****** **

“You should just stay with me,” Sherlock stated. “No sense in you replacing all of this. You’ll just have to clean it up before your Aunt gets home.”

****** **

“Live with you?” Abigail asked, surprised at the suggestion.

****** **

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the past week?” Sherlock questioned.

****** **

“Well... kinda, I guess...”

****** **

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “You guess? Really Abby, sometimes I wonder about you.”

****** **

“Yes, well... sometimes I wonder about you too,” she replied as she rolled her eyes. Abigail looked around the room, visualizing the fight. “Who was he?,” she said as her eyes fixated on the broken window and destroyed room.

****** **

Sherlock’s eyes softened and he took a step towards her, “A police officer. Lestrade said he would like you to look at a picture line-up soon. I’ll go with you.”

****** **

“Yeah, sure. Trial?” she asked, suddenly worried that there would be a long road ahead.

****** **

“I’m sure there will be a trial but as to whether or not you will be called to testify, I do not know. Perhaps not, considering that state you were in the night you met him,” Sherlock stated.

****** **

Abigail flinched but didn’t say anything. “I suppose I should call to get the window fixed and start on this mess.”

****** **

Sherlock left her alone and she got busy sweeping and straightening up while waiting for the repair man. The physical work helped keep her mind off of everything that had just happened. By the end of the day, her flat was almost back to normal except for the broken furniture and stained carpets. Abigail would try and replace it all before her Aunt returned from her trip but it would take time to save the money for it.

****** **

She made two trips up to Sherlock’s flat- one to carry her cello and music stand and the other to carry up some clothes and her toiletries for the night. He was gone again without a word but she was almost relieved that she didn’t have to cook dinner or even talk about anything with him. All she wanted to do was get changed and practice for the play.

****** **

Sherlock had spent the day researching the effects of heat on decomposition, specifically when a body was in a plastic bin. It had been a relief to focus on something other than serial murderer for once. When he walked into his flat, he saw that Abigail had brought up her cello and set it next to his violin. He also realized that she was in the middle of the shower.

****** **

“Abby?” he called out because he didn’t want to startle her. He pushed open the bathroom door and repeated her name, “Abby?”

****** **

“Yes... almost done,” she called out.

****** **

“Take your time,” he said as he started to remove his clothes in the hallway. He walked slowly into the bathroom and opened the shower curtain. “I hope you don’t mind..” he said, giving her a sheepish smile.

****** **

“Um... no, I don’t mind,” she answered as she moved so there would be enough room for them both. She handed him the soap but he refused and pulled her against him.

****** **

“I had to go out and get my mind off of things...” he started to explain.

****** **

“Stop.... I understand, Sherlock,” she replied, surprised that he wanted to explain.

****** **

He pushed his hair back now that it was wet and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad it’s over with,” he said.

****** **

Abigail just nodded her head against his chest. She pulled away and started to lather the bar of soap up in her hand and started to wash his chest. Sherlock moaned as her slippery hands slid to the tops of his thighs and she squatted down in the shower, deliberately teasing him. His cock got hard just from the teasing. Abigail looked up at him as she grabbed him and stroked him a few times, her soapy hands easily gliding over him. Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on her as she used both hands to stroke him. His hand went to the wall to steady himself. Abigail looked back up and watched his eyes close and his head drop back.

****** **

“God, Abby” he moaned and then looked down at her again before reaching for her hands to stop her. He pulled her up and turned her around to face the wall. His hands grabbed hers and he placed them on the tiles. “Keep them there,” he said as he kissed her neck and shoulder. She leaned against the cold tiles and moaned as he began to tease her clit with his finger. His other hand pinched and pulled on her nipple, causing her to cry out.

****** **

He continued to tease her with his nimble hands and his lips never strayed far from her neck and shoulders because he knew that was her favorite spot to be kissed. When he could tell she was getting close, he grabbed her hips and aggressively bent her over- this action alone made Abigail almost orgasm.

****** **

He quickly entered her, forcing them both to cry out. Sherlock teased her by slowly fucking her. Abigail turned her head and begged, “Please... harder, Sherlock, harder.”

****** **

He complied and thrusted harder and faster into her. In unison, they moaned and cried out each other’s name as his body slammed into hers over and over again until she started to come. Sherlock gasped as she clenched around him and finally came just as she did.

****** **

Abigail turned around and they held each other for a moment, letting the hot water relax them both. She helped him by washing his hair for him, playing with his dark curls. After they rinsed off and then dried themselves, Sherlock left the bathroom first as Abigail started to comb her hair.

****** **

He looked at his mobile and saw a text from John.

****** **

_We stopped by but it seemed like a bad time. Will call tomorrow. JW_

****** **

Sherlock smirked as Abigail appeared in the hall. She gave him a confused look but he wouldn’t tell her that more than likely John and Mary had heard them in the shower. “I don’t even want to know,” she muttered as she walked into the bedroom to put on her pajamas.

****** **

**************************************

****** **

Over the next few weeks, Abigail and Sherlock developed a relatively normal routine- or as normal as the life with the great detective could be. As Abigail’s birthday approached, Mary pushed Sherlock to make some sort of plan. The most planning he would do was to agree to let Mary and John host a dinner for Abigail. Party planning was something he would never do.

****** **

Abigail met everyone at John and Mary’s house straight from the matinee showing. She was dressed in a black summer dress- black being the required color for all orchestra members in the pit.

****** **

As Abigail walked into the living room, she hugged Mary and John. Sherlock sat across the room, looking impatient and uncomfortable. “Hey,” she said to him as she walked up and despite knowing he wasn’t for public displays, she placed a kiss on his cheek.

****** **

He managed to fake a  smile which made Abigail roll her eyes at him. “Come on, it’s my birthday. You promised.”

****** **

Mary leaned over towards John and whispered, “I have no idea how she finds the patience.”

****** **

“Abby... I just heard from Lestrade,” Sherlock said as he stood up.

****** **

“And?” Abigail asked, her voice shaking.  Everyone in the room tensed up, waiting for news of the impending trial.

****** **

Mary and John perked up. “Everything alright, Sherlock?” John asked.

****** **

“The killer committed suicide in the prison,” Sherlock replied bluntly. “There will be no trial.”

****** **

Abigail stood in the middle of the room, shocked at the news. Sherlock searched her eyes and was slightly perplexed on why this didn’t make her happy. “This is good news, yes?” he asked as he walked towards Abigail. “It’s over. No trial. Not questioning. It’s done.”

****** **

“Well... yes, I suppose it is good,” Abigail said, looking at Sherlock who now had a smug smile on his face. “No trial is good.”

****** **

“Yes, it is,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Now, what better  birthday present could you ask for?”

****** **

Abigail shook her head, “Sherlock. I’m not even going to respond to that.”

****** **

Mary could see an oncoming argument and stepped in, “Let’s have some dinner. Abigail, I made you one of your favorites- lasagna.”

****** **

Abigail looked over at Mary and smiled, “Thank you,  Mary.. that sounds wonderful.” She followed Mary into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock and John alone in the living room.

****** **

“I hope you don’t consider the man committing suicide your birthday gift to Abigail,” John said.

****** **

“Well, I thought it was a nice gift,” Sherlock replied with a shrug.

****** **

“Sherlock... please tell me you bought Abigail a gift,” John asked again, now genuinely concerned that his friend would completely mess up Abigail’s birthday.

****** **

Sherlock was about to answer him but they were called to the dinner table to eat. Dinner was spent mostly with Mary and Abigail talking and John glancing at Sherlock every so often because he was still unsure whether or not Sherlock would let Abigail down.

After dinner, they had cake and Mary presented Abigail with a gift bag and card. Inside the bag was new perfume and a gift certificate for a day at a spa. “Oh thank you,” Abigail said as she hugged them both. “Very thoughtful and... oh, I haven’t had a spa day in forever. You should come with me,” she told Mary.

****** **

The ladies chatted for a few moments and then the room got quiet. John was looking at Sherlock who appeared very bored with everything. “Yes, well... I guess we should get home,” Abigail said, slightly disappointed that it had appeared there was no gift from him.

****** **

“Excellent idea,” Sherlock said. “Goodnight John... Mary.”

****** **

Mary gave Abigail a sympathetic look before hugging her one last time. The two women had grown close to one another over the past few weeks. John smiled as he watched the two of them. “Abby- cab is waiting,” Sherlock said, interrupting the goodbyes.

****** **

After a very quiet cab ride, Sherlock led Abigail up to the flat and disappeared back into the bedroom. Abigail paced the living room a bit but settled on sitting in John’s old chair and flipped through a magazine.

****** **

“Abigail?” Sherlock called out to her. “Come here.”

****** **

Abigail got up, groaning as she did. She didn’t want to admit it but Sherlock’s idea of a birthday present hurt. She walked back into the bedroom and found Sherlock sitting on the bed.

****** **

“Sit.”

****** **

Abigail started to fuss, “Sherlock...I really am not in the mood....”

****** **

“Abigail, sit down,” Sherlock interrupted her and patted the bed.

****** **

She sat down with a huff then looked at him. “What?”

****** **

“I realize that the suicide of your tormenter is not a suitable substitution for a proper birthday present so it is a good thing that I had this made for you,” he said as he reached behind himself and handed her the box.

****** **

Abigail took the box in her hands. The box was a dark cherry and had an intricate flower design painted on the lid. “Oh... it’s beautiful,” she said.

****** **

“Here,” he said as he reached over and opened the lid. A song began to play and Abigail instantly recognized it as the song he had composed for her.

****** **

Her hands started to tremble. The present was more than she could ever hope for. “I... I...don’t know what to say,” she said quietly.

****** **

Sherlock tilted his head, “You don’t like it? Is it not enough?”

****** **

Abigail looked at him, tears swelling in her eyes. “I... love it,” she whispered. “I’m just surprised... thank you.”

****** **

Sherlock smiled out of relief. “Good. I’m glad I managed to do this right.”

****** **

Abigail put the music box on the nightstand next to the bed and then wrapped her arms around Sherlock and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Sherlock,” she said as she kissed his lips.

****** **

Sherlock took her face into his hands and looked into her eyes, “I love you too,” he said and then pressed his lips against her cheek then her lips. “Happy Birthday, my sweet Abby.”

********   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Also, there is more planned for Abby and Sherlock- I'm hoping to get that fic started very soon. <3


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